What Should Never Hurt You
by Vermillion Lies
Summary: Cloud likes Leon who wants Rinoa. Leon's oblivious to Sora who's glued to Riku. Roxas doesn't want to admit things, but Axel does. Larxene and Namine just wanna have fun. Demyx just likes messing with Zexion's head. Rated for mature themes.
1. Pilot

This just kinda popped into my head one day, then it danced around in a corset, toga and cowboy boots till i wrote it because that's a vile burning image.

Disclaimer: I do not own kingdom hearts, if I did, there'd be less disney and more yaoi.

* * *

**Cloud BGM: If You Were Gay  
**

Time freezes. Take a Polaroid.

We're all lying sprawled on the L-shaped leather couch of the Leonhart living room. In the way of friends who've all hung out together for what feels like ever, we're heaped on each other like puppies in a basket. I'm nestled in the corner one knee bent so the heel is resting on the edge of couch. Aerith is leaning on that leg, her head resting on my knee as she talks to Yuffie, whose legs are on Aerith's lap.

Axel and Roxas sit on my other side. They aren't sprawled on top of each other. Guys don't do that the way girls do. Just the same they find ways. It's funny to watch them. The way they try to find tiny ways to touch each other in public without someone (like me) noticing. It's cute, how in love they are. Just the same it makes my heart constrict in my ribs, life can be so cruel.

Rikku, Yuna and Paine sit on the floor leaning against the couch. My other leg hangs over Rikku's shoulder, she doesn't mind, one of her hands loops up to rest on my knee. Paine is lying on her back, her legs up on Rinoa's lap… Rinoa, who is flirting with Leon. I try not to look; the sight eats at my heart; because he's responding, in his own reserved way. If you didn't know him, you'd say he was emotionless. You just have to see the signs. Me, I know 'em all, and he's way into her.

I focus my eyes on the TV screen instead. And watch as my friends virtually beat the crap out of each other. When that round ends, I steal the controller out of Axel's hands before someone else does. Just now, I feel like beating something.

By rights I shouldn't be angry. Then again, by rights, I shouldn't be in love with my best friend. But hey, like I said, life is cruel.

Time skips ahead a little, and Rinoa's hand rests on his knee as she leans over to reach for a beer. Oh the joys of being legal **(1)**, we finally don't have to hide our deep alcoholism from the parents. We're on summer break from school right now. It's our last summer before college, so naturally we've been spending time together like we're glued like this. By rights, Rinoa shouldn't be here. She's a new edition to our little group. She's friends with Paine from college (Paine is a sophomore in college, Rinoa is a freshman), her parents moved here recently. Paine introduced us all and since, she's been invited to absolutely everything. I'm not bitter or anything though, not at all.

Time skips ahead again; the room is emptier. Axel and Roxas left, they drive off together, and I know the partying isn't done for them. Yuffie and the three girls on the floor left too. So it's just me, Leon, Aerith and Rinoa. I try not to mutilate Rinoa's character too badly, I don't think I succeeded.

Aerith, the only person who knows of my little secret, glances at me out of the corner of her eye, her character died a while ago so it's not like she needs to look at the screen, and smirks a little. Smirking is not really one of Aerith's usual expressions, it doesn't work on her. Some people, simply cannot smirk, take for example, Leon's little brother, who you'll meet later. Other people shouldn't smirk because they cause all people in the immediate vicinity to want to jump them. Take for example, Leon. God, Leon…

As I'm thinking all this and recording it for future perusal (photographic memory has some definite bonuses after all) Leon's shoulder is digging into mine. The heat and pressure sends my brain into orbit and I'm amazed I can focus enough to kick Rinoa's ass. In case you're getting the wrong impression here, I don't want Leon. Well, that's a lie, I do. But that's not what this is about. This is me, being hopelessly, desperately, eternally in love with my best friend, who by the way, is straighter then a ruler and sort of a homophobe.

To be fair, he's fine with them in theory, but the idea of one say, sitting next to him on his couch freaks the crap out of him. Not that he says that, or even probably consciously, thinks it. He just has that typical straight-guy mentality of 'They might be attracted to me; hence they will clearly throw me to the ground and have their way with me.' Straight girls assume this of lesbians too, I'm told. I don't get it but, hey, how could I?

In line with said inexplicable mentality, guys don't hug; which is why I'm so happy over the fact that Leon's shoulder is bruising mine as he pummels the buttons on his controller. I'm not just being obsessive, I swear. Well, okay, yeah, I am, but I'm justified, in my own way.

It's getting late. We're all blinking and stretching our eyes extra wide to try and keep them open. None of us get up to leave. Rinoa because she wants Leon, Cloud (i.e. Me) because there's no way in hell I'm leaving her with him without me as a chaperone, if I can help it. And Aerith because she's trying to keep me from killing Rinoa, she has a remarkably calming presence. Not that I would kill her in front of Leon; that would just get him mad at me.

It's Sora who gets us all to leave; that's Leon's little brother, I mentioned him before. He staggers in around four in the morning and blinks at us all. Sora's still in high school, but he's actually pretty cool, in a juvenile kind of way.

"Do you people plan on moving in or something?" he asks. He's a bit of a smart ass but really, he's a great kid.

We blink at him, words being something foreign to us. For us, communication exists primarily in button pressing and joystick toggling; the occasional out of game grunt is mind shattering.

Aerith recovers speech first, she always was a quick one, she blinks with surprise at the watch on her wrist and mutters something doubtlessly obscene in Italian because she refuses to swear in English. Italian however, seems to be okay. I'm not sure of the logic there but it works for her.

We stagger en masse to the front door, our legs stiff from disuse, Aerith and Rinoa step outside first, staring at the pale-grey sky, as if previously unaware of dawn's imminent arrival. It wakes them up for some reason, and they hurry to their respective cars.

I'm left staring at the sky, watching the moon and stars fade into oblivion.

Leon shoots me what passes for a concerned look in the Leon-verse, for the rest us it's just a look.

I shrug and stare at the moon, my lips twisting a little, I glance back at him, then the pavement. This is why Leon and I are so close, words, are almost always gratuitous. I know he asked me what was wrong like he knows I told him my parents are doing their normal drunken fighting bit. I'm really sick of that.

He gestures back to the front door, which hangs open to the cool night air. I gaze at it appraisingly. I feel bad about bumming a place to sleep off Leon some nights. He doesn't mind. His dad is ridiculously rich and never there, he likes the silent company I provide, a pleasant counterpoint to his cheerful and talkative brother. His lips twist in a half-smile; he knows what I'm thinking and tells me he doesn't care. So I grin at him and head back inside. Leon is the only one I will smile for. Even Aerith only gets half-smiles and smirks.

We go inside and up the stairs and down the hall and up more stairs and down another hall before we get to Leon's room; which, in case you're wondering, is about the size of my living room. He goes to a closet and pulls out a blanket and chucks it at me. I catch it as deftly as I can, considering it unfolded mid-flight, and turn to the couch along the wall opposite the door, flinging the blanket on top of it. I grab the cushion from one end and put it on top of the other one on the other side. I pull off shirt, socks, pants and drop on top of the couch in just my boxers; I try not to watch as Leon undresses by his bed. I don't succeed. I love the way the muscles in his back flex and contort as pulls his shirt off over his head. Ashamed, I look away.

The rustling sound of cloth tells me he's sliding under the covers, I try not to let that thought run away with my senses. You'd think after years of this I'd be better at controlling it, no such luck.

"Hey, Cloud?" he asks, his voice soft and quiet, as if he doesn't want to break the silence's spell.

"Yeah?" I murmur, my face mostly buried in the pillow.

"You know that Rinoa girl?"

"Yeah," misery settles in to the hollow in my ribs, the one where my heart used to be, before I lost it in a game of luck. The house always wins. The house in this case being Karma, who's a vengeful bitch, she really, really hates me.

"She's pretty cute. Don't you think?"

I clench my teeth and blink my eyes tight shut, as if when I open them, the world will be right. It's not. "Sure."

"Do you think… if I asked her out… she'd say yes?"

I'm wincing now, my fingers curl into a fist so tightly even my short nails manage to dig into my palm, "Sure, Leon."

"'Kay," he says, and that's it; the end of our little heart to heart. Thank god. That was awful.

No matter how much you love someone waking up to them staring at you, will always, without a doubt, freak you out. I blink and glare at Leon, who's sitting on his wheeling desk chair, he's got if flipped around and is straddling it so his crossed arms rest where technically your back is supposed to be. I give him my best 'what the fuck' glare, he stares at me for a bit more, just to prove he isn't cowed by my anger, before reaching behind him and pulling forward a box of pancake mix, he props his chin on it and stares imploringly at me. He doesn't quite pout of course, not even in his own Leon-ly way, but it works just as well, it's not like I'm really able to say 'no' to him.

I glare at him again but I swing my legs over the side of the couch and pull back the blanket just the same. A bundle of black fabric and shiny silver metal collides with the side of my head. I pull at it and realize it's pants, my pants. I actually have a drawer of clothes that I just leave at his house. I pull them on and trail behind Leon down to the kitchen.

One of the things that's really endearing about him, is the fact that he absolutely cannot cook; at all, up until a few weeks ago, cereal was gourmet cooking. Not even hot cereal like oatmeal, that at least involves boiling, no, the pour it into a bowl from the box and add milk kind. He recently mastered the fine art of microwaving frozen food. I'm quite proud of him. I can cook pretty well because Aerith and I got bored one day and she started showing me how. Not that it's hard, you just follow the recipe, people like Leon mystify me.

I'm standing at the stove, waiting to flip when Sora ambles in. Leon is seated at the table eating happily. I ate mine from this batch already, cooking and eating is a fine art. Sora ignores me almost completely as he stands next to me, staring at the griddle of pancakes like it's his boyfriend Riku dressed in leather pants and no shirt.

Leon does not know about Sora and Riku. I caught them making out on the couch one day, and have since been lightly blackmailing Sora for free illegal downloads. I think he sold his soul or something, since he manages to get perfect quality movies while they're still in theaters, sometimes before they're even released. He also gets me music and smoothly translated videogames. I don't think he minds too much, since he must know I'd never tell. Told you I loved Sora.

Since he's staring at the food like it's his one chance at salvation I jerk my head toward the cabinet where the plates are kept. Sora is pretty good at understand the sign language Leon and I tend to use. You would be too if you lived with a guy that quiet for sixteen years. Not that he was always so quiet, so cold.

I take a break between batches and sit at the kitchen table to eat comfortably for a minute or two, taking the time to apply the proper condiments to my food, not just a quick splash of syrup. Leon, seated at the opposite end of the large round kitchen table, scrapes his chair back along the tile floor, stands up and stretches. The too small shirt he's wearing lifts, exposing pale and toned lower abs, disappearing into a pair of oversized grey sweats.

I feel bad about looking at him at times like this, but really, it's not like he'll notice. For someone who is really intelligent, he's remarkably unperceptive. He doesn't even notice Axel and Roxas, I think even _Yuffie_ is catching on. Leon turns and walks to the bathroom, leaving me in the kitchen with Sora. Who, as Karma, that bitch, would have it, is slightly observant.

As soon as Leon's out of range he smirks at me. He really shouldn't smirk, it doesn't work with that innocent and adorable look he's got going for him. I blink innocently at him.

"You like my brother," he sing-songs softly, taunting me.

Emotional control is useful in times like this; it means I'm not blushing fire-engine red. "Don't know what you're talking about."

He laughs shortly, "Right. Like how you were totally not just staring at my brother's ass?"

I look at him. He knows. I know he knows. He knows I know he knows. And so on. I also know that my days of free, illegal, fantastic quality contraband from Sora are over. Well at least, not without something in return, like pancakes… He smiles happily at me and I repress the urge to stab him with my fork. Resolutely I finish eating and re-grease the griddle.

A few minutes later Riku wanders in (he let himself in through the front door) and stares at my pancakes like they're Sora dressed in leather pants and no shirt. I'm really sick of people ogling my cooking, have they no decency?

I try the head-jerk method of communication but he just raises an eyebrow at me. I roll me eyes and tell him to get a plate. You know, if I wasn't totally in love with Leon, and Riku and Sora weren't going out, I'd so seduce that boy. Riku, that is. He's way too attractive for his own good. I mean really, who lets themselves just wander around with perfectly cut shaggy, layered silver hair that gleams just right in any light and aquamarine eyes that enslave you instantly? Those have to be fake, I console myself, ruffling my average colored blond spikes and squinting my average colored blue eyes. I try not to think about appearances too much, it's just depressing. And besides, Leon, is still the hottest.

I glare at the pancakes as if it's they're fault that I'm so plain, and flip them, they look pretty done. Behind me I can tell that Sora is whispering something into Riku's ear. And he smirks at me (he is one of the people who shouldn't smirk because it looks too damned sexy) as I flip pancakes onto his plate. I twist over my shoulder and glare at Sora, who's kicking his feet and whistling innocently. My lips twist into a snarl, as I add more batter to the griddle.

* * *

_You know how life can suck, yeah, it does that alot._

* * *

**Sora BGM: Pretty Vacant-Sex Pistols  
**

I smile happily to myself as I work at my computer. I. Can. Not. Believe. That Cloud is gay for my brother. That is just… beautiful; absolutely fantastic. I snicker to myself as I surf the web. I can't really focus on what I'm doing. Too busy doing mental happy-dances because Cloud… is gay… for my brother. It's ludicrous; and _so _ironic, considering that whole blackmailing me thing. I honestly didn't mind getting him stuff. It's not like I wasn't going to get most of it anyway, it was just the force issue of it that bugs me. I laugh harder as I keep typing; stupid summer homework. My own fault too, I'm the one who simply had to take summer classes, so I can be in higher classes, with Riku, and graduate, with Riku, and go to college, with Riku. The things I do for love.

His part in this is helping me with the super advanced courses I have to take to keep up with his too smart brain. Silly Riku. Luckily, he's a good tutor, when we don't get distracted. I giggle a bit more at the thought as I keep writing my paper on some Calculus theory or another, I haven't got a clue as to how I'll actually need this in later life, but for my Riku, I do it anyway.

Said Riku who is lounging on my bed reading a video game magazine; he already researched the topic, explained it to me, and wrote an outline, so I guess it'd be asking too much to get him to write it too.

"Why do you keep giggling over there?" he asks, keeping his voice low and sultry. Bed springs squeak as he shifts over to me, sliding an arm around over my shoulder and down, to trace lazy patterns on my stomach through my shirt. "You sound almost evil," he whispers against my ear, hot breath tantalizing the sensitive skin of the back of my neck and ears.

"Cloud is gay for my brother!" I sing happily, tapping my fingers merrily on the wood of my desk.

"Hmm," Riku murmurs, his tongue tracing the curve of the outer shell of my ear, "You've been working on this forever, I think you need a break." Before I can say that it's only been twenty minutes, he's pulled me backward onto my bed, not like I really mind anyway.

I definitely don't mind when he straddles me and tortures my throat with his teeth. To my shame, I whimper when he pulls away and stands up, "Got to go, love," he murmurs.

I glare angrily at him as he walks away. "Tease," I mutter.

He smirks at me over his shoulder and closes the door behind him.

I sigh angrily and sit up, looks like I'll have to write that damned essay anyway. I drag my feet over to the computer chair and settle on it, sighing miserably. I perk immediately when I hear a soft knock at my door.

"Ha, I knew you wouldn't be gone long. Come crawling back, have you?" I call haughtily, at the knocker, who, I know, must be Riku.

"Not exactly," a voice that is not Riku's smooth purr says, and a blond head pokes in, "Expecting someone else?"

"Cloud," I mutter, kicking the wall in frustration. "If you've come to see if you can still blackmail me for stuff, you're wasting your time."

He shakes his head, and I notice his spikes look limper than normal, wet like he'd taken a shower. He doesn't come in though, he stays hesitantly in the doorway, looking nervous with that damned hair of his. I hate his spikes. His are natural. Seriously, he goes swimming at our pool sometimes, and all he has to do is step out of the water and shake his head, like a dog, and poof, insta-spikes. Mine, take a good half-hour of styling.

"Well, come in then," I snap, loosing patience. Mad at stupid teasing Riku and stupid Cloud's natural hair.

He walks in cautiously, like he thinks I've got booby-traps or something. Please, I'm too busy writing this stupid essay for stupid Riku. Stupid Cloud.

"Um, I was wondering…" he trails off and scratches his head, making his spikes bounce. Stupid natural bouncy hair.

"Oh, out with it, I have an essay to write."

He seems surprised, "Oh, for what class?"

"Calculus," I mutter spitefully, "Which I'm only taking for stupid Riku, who left me here, alone, the tease."

He brightens instantly, probably at my pain, some people just don't appreciate another persons agony. Ironic considering Cloud can be a right emo bastard.

"I can help you with that if you want, I took Calculus sophomore year."

I smile, turn and give him my full attention. Why hello there new best friend. "Really? And what would you be requesting in exchange for that minute favor?" I ask, playing down the happiness the idea of not having to write the essay gives me. "DVD's, MP3's, what?"

"Um, advice actually." He looks awkward as he sits on my bed.

Well good-bye happy bubble, "If you're asking me for advice as to how to get into my brothers pants you may as well walk right back out that door."

Cloud looks properly horrified, "Ahh, no, no, that's really quite alright. That's uh, not what I'm looking for."

"Oh, so you don't want to get into his pants? Hmm, wonder what that whole thing this morning was about then."

"Oh, shut up." Sora: 1 Cloud: 0! I pissed off Cloud! I should write this down, there should be a parade, breaking news, something. Cloud has emotions! "I was wondering if you could help me look, well, hot; or something. Ahh, never mind this was a bad idea, heh, I'll just be going now." He gets up and hurries to the door. I beat him to it. I can be quite fast when properly motivated. And currently I'm feeling like the spider that just landed a fat juicy fly. I keep my evil smile subdued, and lead him back to the bed. Oh, this should be fun.

* * *

**(1). **I made the legal drinking age 18, which it really should be, or 16, it's all good. 21 just sucks 

Feedback, please. I'll bribe you with Leon/Riku clones, still working on getting Cloud's DNA...If you want another chapter you should tell me, 'cause I'm easily discouraged.


	2. Your Mom

**A/N:** Wow, that was quick (possibly 'cause i had most of this already written), whatever.

For those of you who reviewed, I love you. I tried to reply to some of them but my computer was being stupid. Which it always is. And yeah, the first section of this is... odd. Sorry, it's needed for future plot, which should be good... yeah.

Disclaimer: I do not own kingdom hearts. I _do_ have a random picture of Leon as a girl. It's pretty, I got bored in math.

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**Cloud BGM: Only-Nine Inch Nails**

Homosexual: of, pertaining to, or noting the same sex

Well that's a crap definition if ever there was one? Gee thanks, it's glad to know I can trust you in my time of need. Not.

Generally I just accept it, you know? Like, okay, I am gay. I like other men. No problem right? But then, I wonder why. Is it something about them that makes me like them, or is it me liking my own gender? If I was a girl, would I still like guys, or would I still be gay? I can never seem to figure it out, is it them, or me? Where does the fault lie? Why is there something wrong with me? Wait, no, there's nothing wrong with… fuck, my fathers voice rings through my head and I punch the hard tiles of the shower stall, not very hard, just enough to make my knuckles redden and sting. I hate my father.

I sigh angrily and grab the bottle of conditioner and squeeze some into my palm. It's thick, blue and smells like what the ocean is supposed to smell like. It doesn't smell like the ocean, it smells like the idea of the ocean. Or something…

I work the goop into my sopping blond spikes and adjust the water temperature. Steam rises around me and my skin feels funny. Pain, that sensation is called pain. I feel detached today, like I'm not quite connected. And since my brain doesn't seem to be linked to the rest of me, it wanders about wondering, about this entity gay… and Leon.

Why him? Why him of all people? I want to yell at the chipped plaster ceiling above me. It doesn't respond. I give it a final glare and my fingers find a thick scar running down the back of my neck, slanting across to coast along the trapezius muscle, that's the big one that runs from clavicle to clavicle in case you didn't know, it also has a triangular section in your back. I trace the raised tissue for what feels like the millionth time.

Leon… my friend since childhood, I've been with him forever, except for that one goddamned year; the year we both went cold. The year my body got so many of its scars. I remember the day I found him again, purely accidental.

My first day at my big new high school in a brand new town, we'd had to move over the summer. I was sitting in the back of my homeroom, like the angry little goth I was, am. My arms folded over my chest, hips sliding forward to rest on the edge of the chair, legs spread wide in an expression of distaste. My lips curling in that feral half-smile I adopted almost permanently back then; eyes regarding my classmates and teacher with so much distaste. Then someone actually interesting walked in. I didn't believe it at first, he looked so different. The chocolate brown hair was longer, he was taller, he was wearing leather, even then. He walked in confident, bored, bold and uncaring. He stood in the door, eyes surveying us with a scorn that almost matched my own. Angry little fifteen year old with a secret to hide and a past to bury; that was fine, just proved we still had things in common. His eyes lingered over me for a split-second longer then everyone else got, he didn't recognize me though; just my eyes, or rather the desolation and misery therein.

I was hurt he didn't recognize me, but not unsurprised. I wasn't the scrawny little kid he'd left behind. I wasn't the scrawny little kid who got his ass beat by the football team and friends every day cause he'd gotten caught kissing Zach behind the gym he had never known. I'd evolved into the angry little goth who couldn't cope and had the self-inflicted scars too show it. The sad little weakling who'd brought a gun to school. And finally the guy who'd spent his months in a juvenile detention facility working out, so he wouldn't have to use a gun.

So really, I didn't blame him at all for not recognizing me, only a little. I forgave him completely when he answered arrogantly to 'Leon Leonhart', not the 'Squall Loire' **(1)** I'd been expecting. I didn't doubt who he was, I just wanted to know what the hell had happened to make him need to change his name. I felt him stare at me when my own name was called. I didn't look at him, I wanted to leave this to him.

"Cloud!" a voice calls. The bell has rung and we're free… for all of the five minute passing period.

I turn casually, 'cause I'm too proud to hurry, "Ah, hello, _Leon_." I don't know how I had missed it, but I finally noticed the attention-demanding scar diving down between his eyebrows, from his forehead to the side of his nose.

He smirks, "Yup, that's me. How you been, man?"

For a minute he almost fooled me into thinking he was happy, into thinking he wasn't as scarred as I was, if not more so.

The shower water has turned icy and I've still got conditioner in my hair, "Fuck." I love the way the word slides off my tongue, almost as much as I hate the familiar feeling creeping over me. I should call Aerith, I need to call Aerith. She can help just by her being her. And she's hardly been around all summer, wonder what she's up to?

I rinse off, step out and towel off, my gaze purposefully skirting the mirror, I don't need to see the scars to know they're there, just like I don't need to have them to be reminded of that one godforsaken year.

After I dress, I call Aerith on her cell, but she doesn't pick up. I go downstairs instead of trying again. I pass the open door to the den, where my father sits, drunkenly watching football. Ah, my father; a fine figure of man. His hobbies include, insulting people by calling them gay, drinking, drinking with his friends, insulting me, insulting me by calling me gay, drinking, beating his wife, drinking, and did I mention drinking, and of course, wasting his pathetic earnings on bad beer. He's quit off the wife-beating lately, thanks entirely to me and my fantastically imaginative not-very-empty threats. I don't give him a glance in passing as I make my way to the run-down kitchen. I make tea, I feel like tea, I need tea. I relax against the counter sipping the steaming liquid for a minute or two until I hear his heavy lurching footsteps, no doubt, he needs another beer.

He grunts a little at me as he stoops over into the opened fridge, scratching his ass as he paws through the contents. He finds his beer and withdraws it, staring at me as he does so. I remain silent. Silent is best. If I don't acknowledge him, he wont' speak to me (hopefully), and if he doesn't speak to me, I won't want to kill him, right? The theory fails.

"Tea?" he scorns, "Jesus boy, all you need to do is start eating chocolate ice cream when you're sad and you'll sprout tits and a cunt, you fucking fairy."

I clench my teeth shut and take another sip, relishing the stolen heat spreading through my body, warming me.

"Eh? Answer me when I talk to you!" He's blustering and his speech is slurred, I doubt he even knows my name. Oh fuck, he's coming closer, I can smell the alcoholic reek of him yards away, it's overpowering this close up.

I gulp the dregs of my tea and set my empty mug on the counter the sink, my face turned away. He takes the opportunity and his fist collides with my face. Before I'm entirely aware of what I'm doing, I have his arm bent painfully behind his back and he's gasping for air, beer gut trembling. My lips curl in sneer and I twist his arm farther, "Father, father," I say softly, "We've had talks about this, you know? I thought the message was clear. I so hate to repeat myself." I release him and he whirls to face me, then doubles over, my fist buried in his gut, working up under his ribs; nothing permanent, just enough to make him gasp for air. I pull the fist back and shove him to the floor, before dropping to pin him to it. "Okay, not that I know you're listening, I'll say it again. Stay away from me, and stay away from her, got it memorized?" I can't help but let Axel's typical catchphrase slide from my lips.

He nods weakly and I stand, rolling him over with one booted toe. I bite my lip and swear, trying to quench back the darkness before it takes over me fully. Since that year, the year of the scared little boy who brought the shiny silver gun to school, I've been like this. I suppose everyone has a killer inside them, mine just happens to be slightly more active than the average persons. Control keeps Leon from breaking, and me from killing. The sound of the TV in my mother's room turns up and I laugh darkly to myself. My mother spends most of her time, closeted in her chamber. Occasionally, she gets drunk and comes out to yell at my father for being the lout he is. Those nights used to end in beatings, now they end in yelling. A few broken ribs to a coward will do that.

I hate beating my father, not because he's my father, just because he's such a weakling I feel like a bully, and sometimes, I don't even care. I shove back the darkness and go to my room, but the adrenaline won't let me rest, and the knowledge of my father being downstairs keeps my blood pumping and my fists clenching. Finally, I shove some clothes in a bag and dial Leon's number.

"Hi," his monotone can be the best sound in the world.

"Leon," my voice changes, dragging out the sound into some infernal caress.

A second of hesitation, "Cloud." He's careful, he knows the state I'm in. My guess is, he's been here himself, I still don't know what happened to him, but I know it wasn't pretty.

I hesitate, finding the words, "I was wondering if I could-"

"Yeah, sure. You really don't have to ask you know, it's not like you don't have a key." His voice is so reassuring.

"It might be a few days this time." I say.

"Your dad?"

I let out a heavy sigh and drag my fingers through my hair, still damp from the shower, "Yeah."

"We'll talk." The line clicks dead. It's not an insult, that he's so brief. We both hate talking on the phone, most of our conversation is silent gesture, hard to convey through audio only.

I grab the bag of clothes and a jacket and am out the door in ten seconds flat.

The drive is easy, and the speed and feel of the motorcycle beneath me does wonders for my mental state. It's late, the cars are mostly gone, so I step heavily on the gas and go as fast as precaution will allow, which is pretty damned fast.

I pull to a halt in their driveway and switch off the ignition. A key from my pocket lets me through the front door. My feet automatically carry me to Leon's room, he's listening to Everclear (his secret fetish, I'll never tell) reading on his bed, long legs stretched out. He glances up at my quiet knock, which was pointless considering I opened the door first. He glances at the clock on the wall, then back to me with a raised eyebrow. _That was quick, how freaking fast did you go?_

My face cracks into a demonic grin, _As fast as the old girl would go._

He smirks and pulls his legs back, making room for me on the king-sized bed. His lips twitch downward and watches me concernedly as I drop my bag on the couch I'll be sleeping on (there's a billion guest rooms, they're all just so… _cold)_.

"So, what did you do?" He's not really one for subtlety or tact, not that I mind.

I sigh and flop back onto the foot of the bed. My shirt flaps up and the cold air kisses my stomach, I tug down on the hem before responding. "Oh, the usual, little TV, little video games."

His glare tells I'm not funny and I know it.

I sigh, again, and my voice looses the injected happiness, "Almost broke his arm, severely winded him, told him off. He started it." I finger the swelling on my cheek, it's not so bad, but it stings, and I know for a fact it's red.

He smiles sadly, "Some people never learn."

I know for a fact he's talking about something else, I just don't have the faintest clue what. I reach up and pat him awkwardly on his calf, which happens to be the most accessible body part.

"Hey, thanks for letting me stay. Again."

"No problem," his voice is still distant, then he's back from wherever he went and grins, really _grins_ at me and says, "It gives me an opportunity to beat your ass at Tekken and Soul Cal."

God, when he smiles like that, it's almost like… like freshman year never happened, and we're still happy and care free. I mock-glare back, "Oh, you are _so _going down."

* * *

_Yeah? Well, your mother... yeah!_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Smack My Bitch Up-Prodigy  
**

"Ha-ha, I still can't believe you want my brother, or _mijn broer_, as the Dutch say," Sora smiles happily. I glare at him; this has got to be the tenth time he said that today.

"How many classes _are _you taking?" I snap at the same time Riku says, "Your pronunciation is a little off."

He glares at both of us in turn. "A years worth, I need a lot of credits, mostly 'cause I failed a couple courses last year, **(2)** if I want to graduate a year early. Not to mention the fact that stupid, smart Riku is taking classes that'd be above mine even if we were in the same grade. And, piss off, I'm trying here."

I restrain a smirk; harrying Sora is one of my new favorite activities. If you were constantly spending time with some one who teased you about the same damned things over and over, you'd try to piss them off too. It's been a few days since the Kitchen Catastrophe, as I've dubbed it. We went shopping, a lot. Sora dragged Riku and their friend Kairi (Kairi is okay, she was in my art class last year, we talked a little) along. Finding an article of clothing they all agreed on that I could afford was a miracle. I end up with a few shirts and leather pants I swear I'll never, ever wear… in public… during the day… probably. Oh, screw it, I'm so going to wear them, uncomfortable they may be, but… I just look so damned… pretty, in them. One look in the mirror and I kissed my anti-leather beliefs and principles good-bye with a smile and a wave. Other than that, Operation: Make Me Hot has been a failure.

Today's lesson, as delegated by Sora, is going clubbing, I'm supposed to watch peoples interaction from the second floor or similar good vantage point and try and find what makes people find men "hawt." That or Sora just wants to go clubbing.

It's silent for a second before Riku breaks in with, "Actually Sora, your brother, he's… not bad looking. Can you blame our buddy Cloud, here? Leon's really hot. I mean, his ass should be like… illegal… especially since he likes to wear those tight pants, and you know-"

My eyes are popping out of their sockets by the time Sora cuts in on Riku's little tangent, "Riku, darling, if you ever want to do more than _look _at me ever again, I advise you to retract those comments and, possibly grovel. Now."

Huh, who'd have thought that Sora got that too-sweet voice when he was being sadistic? His brother just gets icy… -er than normal. I've never heard their father mad and I can barely remember the mother… vague memories of dark hair and blue eyes. Is it wrong that I think that seductive, deceptive voice is kind of sexy?

Riku blanches and chokes, "By which I of course mean; Leon is a hideous, deformed, grotesque ogre. And I love you completely and would never consider leaving you, because you alone are worth loving."

Sora smiled victoriously and patted Riku condescendingly on the head, "Good boy. Be a doll and get us another round."

I watch this little exchange with utmost interest, and am most amused when Riku goes off to do as he was told. "He's very… loyal."

"I believe 'whipped' is really more fitting."

"I was trying to be polite," I say, dipping my head in assent, and the question is off my lips before I can think it, damn, that scotch must have gotten to me sooner than I'd expected, "Are you sleeping with him?"

Sora flushed, "I don't see how that's any of your business, and no, no I'm not. It seems rather… asinine."

"Asinine, really? Do you even know what that means? I'm surprised he puts with you, you can be such a bitch." Oh, yeah, the alcohol has definitely gotten to me, or at least my tongue.

"Not precisely. And you know, I'd be less or an asshole unless you want me to tell my darling brother a thing or two."

"Oh, Sora, you must be so proud of yourself, using blackmail to get people to hang out with you. And I could always tell Leon a thing or two myself, or just stop helping you with your summer homework." Riku is approaching from behind Sora, "or I could just tell Riku you think sex with him is asinine **(3)**, I'm sure it will go over well."

"Asinine?" Riku asks sharply, setting the drinks down on the table. I feel bad about using Riku, I like him; he's so much less irritating then his little boyfriend. It'll be worth it to get Sora to shut up, he's really getting to me… I can be so catty.

I sip quietly at my scotch as I watch the show. Sora went chasing off after Riku, of course, who's surprised there? I can't hear the dialogue, it's hard enough to hear them when they're next to me; it's still fun to watch though. I'm surprised and a little disappointed to see how little time it takes for Sora to win Riku back. It's better that way though, I suppose, I'd feel guilty if I made them break up.

Riku flounces into his chair and pouts a little, in a dignified sort of way. Damn, the boy even pouts pretty.

"Why are we here anyway?" he asks sullenly, flipping his hair. It's vibrantly prismatic in the flashing colored lights of the club.

"Because, we're trying to make Cloud sexy."

"Yeah, so why are we here? Shouldn't we try to find him some more clothes, he barely bought anything."

Sora nods, "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to go clubbing."

Riku laughs, "And of course you couldn't just ask? Speaking of which-"

"The hell are you people talking about? What's wrong with my clothes? They're fine."

"Of course they are," Sora agrees patronizingly, "which is why they need to be incinerated. Would you stop being such an ass? This was you're idea! You're the one who came to me, asking me to make you hot so you could get into my brother's pants! Do you have any idea how psychologically scarring this all is?"

"For the love of god, I don't want to get into his pants! This has nothing to do with him! I'm just sick of being ugly!" I am so not sober; I should really go home before I do something I regret.

"Which is what I'm trying to-"

"What are you on, man? You're fucking gorgeous!"

Silence. Well, not actually, the bass beat is still thumping so loud my brain is vibrating in my skull, but it's quiet at the table. Sora is staring at Riku, enraged. I'm staring at him totally shocked and Riku himself is staring at the table with an expression to end all "oh shit" expressions. I almost feel guilty for being at the center of all this, almost.

Sora stares at Riku, who seems to be searching desperately for words that will make everything okay again. He doesn't seem to be having much luck. I just down the last of my scotch.

Sora stands up, walks away, and Riku chases after him. My head is swimming from the lights that are disorientating at the best of times. Sora barely touched his drink, what a waste. All well. I down that too and stagger off to the dance floor, so I can get the fuck out of here; I am so, so wasted. Shit.

I started out with best of intentions, honestly, but I got caught up in the hive. It's a living breathing mass, this dance floor. Packed so tight I can't tell where I end and where I begin, not that it really matters. The rhythm's infectious, and before the sober corner of my mind can do anything I'm lost in dancing, my arms around some brunette, I can't really tell much more than that about them. That's one of the brilliant things about this place; the people really don't seem to give a shit if people they don't know start dancing with them. Or maybe that's a universal thing…

A few songs later, it's impossible for me to say how many, I'm distracted from the brunette, who turns out to be a really good dancer, and a man… I think, by a voice shouting my name in my ear. I drop the brunette and turn to see "Leon!" I fling my arms around his neck, romance movie style, and squeeze for a second or two, before loosening my grip. I'm not sure if it's the alcohol or me, it doesn't really matter; I'll blame it on the alcohol. I keep my hands on his neck to balance myself, that's also why I left my hips leaning into his, yeah that must be it.

He looks uncomfortable at the contact and shoves me off, "Aerith told me you'd here. She also mentioned you couldn't hold your alcohol, not that I needed to be told that. I remember Tifa's pool party last month." He has to shout to be heard. I'm not really listening though; I'm transfixed by the way his mouth shifts to form sounds. Then I ignore that too and shift so I'm holding him again, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other on a bony hip. The crush of people fills in around us and he can't squirm away again. The tip of my nose rests perfectly in the hollow behind his ear and my lips almost brush the hot skin of his neck as I sing along with the song, something about being saved and being the only one and rats in cages **(4)**. My hips grinding into his all the time. I really, really hope he knows I'm drunk, 'cause from the way he's struggling, he is really, really, not happy with the situation.

When he gets loose he stares at me for a second, he looks so… repulsed and it breaks my heart. Even though I know if the roles were reversed I'd feel the same. Logic is screaming at me to stop, but sweet master libation is telling me to kiss him. I really like the latter option better, I'm just starting to lean forward when he grabs my head in his hands, squeezing so my cheeks poof forward and my mouth puckers like a fish. "Cloud, listen to me. I'm going to give you exactly one chance. If you leave with me now and don't do anything dumb, I'll pretend none of this happened and in the morning we can still be friends, okay?" With that he, digs his fingers into my shirt and pulls me to the door. I stagger as the cold night air hits my face, he puts an arm around my waist, drags my arm over his shoulders and half carries me to the roadside curb. He props me up against a telephone pool and jogs over to sleek black sports car and returns with a water bottle. He squats in front of me and presses the open mouth of the water bottle to my lips.

"Drink," he commands me shortly, the ice in his voice hurts. The fact that he felt the need to verbalize such an obvious thing hurts worse. I drink some in a show of penance. We sit for a minute or two, until he's deemed that I'm good to go. Leon stands and helps me to my feet. I stand swaying for a minute or two, I'm pretty sure that the water didn't do anything but I don't say anything. It turns out I don't have to, because half a second later I'm bent double over the patchy grass retching up the contents of my stomach. It's over quickly and soon I'm standing again, feeling quite gross and hating the lingering taste of alcohol and vomit. My stomach revolts angrily again and I drop to all fours instinctively. I'm dimly aware of Leon sitting on the roadside fence rubbing circles on my back as I cough up whatever was left. I shift over to my side when I feel like it's all up. He says nothing but passes me a tissue and the water bottle. Several rounds of swish and spit later my mouth tastes alright and he helps me walk to his car.

* * *

_Yeah? Well, your mother... yeah!_

* * *

**Sora BGM: LOVE LOVE SHINE-Kosaka Riyu  
**

"Well, that was certainly interesting. Am I insane or did you see that too?" Riku's voice comes from my right.

"You mean Cloud pretty much dry-humping my brother on the dance floor? Then said brother hauling off said blond with a most fascinating look on his face? Hells yeah. If only I had a camera."

Riku laughs, "Talk about Kodak moments. Too bad it looked like a 'touch me again and die' expression, as compared to a 'I want to rip your clothes off and have hot monkey sex with you' expression."

"Eww, monkey sex? Gah… yeah, Leon has personal space issues."

"Duh, monkey sex, is there any other kind? Why's that?"

"Well, duh, what about like… panda sex? It's a long story."

"Panda sex? The hell? Panda's don't screw."

"Exactly, it's rare and precious, like diamonds."

"Is this you're way of telling me you've got a Panda fetish? I can't believe you're a furry and you didn't tell me."

"I'm not a furry."

"Yeah, sure, tell it to the guy in the Panda suit you banged last night."

"You terrify me on so many levels."

"I know; it's why you love me. Want to dance?"

"No, you're not wearing a panda suit. Gosh."

Riku laughed, "I knew it. Does it seem odd to you that Leon showed up here? This really doesn't seem like the kind of place he'd go, y'know?"

I can't resist an evil laughter, "Hahaha, leave it to the master. This plot is above your simple comprehension."

"So says the guy who needed scientific notation explained to him five times. What the hell did you do?"

"Oh, nothing too extreme. Aerith called Cloud's cell phone when he was in the shower this afternoon. I just answered and told her that Cloud would be here, probably inebriated. I didn't need to mention that Cloud is a really moronic drunk. He has absolutely no self-control. She already knew that of course, she was at Tifa's pool party." I smirk in victory, I am after all, the man.

"And how did you know she'd call Leon, or that Cloud would be alone?"

"Woe to ye of little faith," I intone in a deep voice, "Fear my mysterious and mystical ways."

"You guessed, didn't you?" he seems unimpressed with my genius. His aqua eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Yeah, pretty much," I confess, I always was crap at lying to him.

He shakes his head at my audacity and puts his arm around me, "You sure you don't want to dance?"

I bob my head happily and let him lead to the floor. The image of Cloud dancing with my brother will make me laugh for years to come. The boy really can _not_ hold his liquor, I mean, damn. I'm just glad he didn't puke his guts up on someone; that could be fun to apologize for. Do you sense the pure sarcasm in my voice?

"Hey, Sora," Riku asks as I settle my head on his shoulder, swaying to the rhythm of the slow jam that's currently making the floor vibrate under my feet, "What did you think was going to happen when Leon showed up. You couldn't have counted on that happening?"

I shrug, wishing he'd shut up and dance, "I hadn't really planned it that far, all I knew was that it would probably be funny as hell, whatever happened."

His arms tighten around me as he replies, "You're disregard for the future is adorable."

I scrunch my face up at him, I _hate_ it when people call me adorable.

He laughs, "You're really not helping you're case there, babe."

"Eh, screw you."

"You offering?"

I smirk and snuggle into his shoulder again, he's really warm. And he always smells so good. I don't know if it's cologne or the soap he uses, but he always has this cloying, dizzying, cinnamon sort of scent. I didn't really mind when he called Cloud gorgeous. I had in fact seen Leon walk in, and didn't want to be there when the two saw each other, could lead to awkward questioning. I don't mention this to Riku though, he's being all sweet and apologetic, I think I'll milk it for all it's worth.

* * *

_Yeah? Well, your mother... yeah!_

* * *

**Leon BGM: Enjoy the Silence-Depeche Mode  
**

The blond in my bed stirs restlessly, making small little whimpering noises. He snuggles into my pillow and hauls the thick blankets up over his shoulder so the only things visible are his messy mop of spiky blond hair and the top of his pale forehead. He squirms; wrinkling his forehead, pulling his knees up to his chest. I can't help but wonder what he's dreaming about. I won't ask though, if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me. What was up with him tonight? I question on my way to the bathroom. The way he touched me… it was like… he wanted me. My skin crawls a little at the thought and I shiver involuntarily as I reach into the medicine cabinet for a bottle of headache medicine.

I like Cloud, honestly I do. But the idea of him, or any other guy, thinking about me like _that_, it's just too weird to contemplate. Especially considering the fact that I've known him since grade school, or maybe before…The pill bottle goes on the bedside table, quickly followed by a water bottle. Better get a bowl, I think, don't want him to puke on my carpet.

I stare at the blond for a minute or two; remembering the scrawny little boy with vertical hair and two big blue eyes he used to be.

Sighing, I curl up on the couch with a book and try to tear my thoughts away from the blond who seems determined to occupy them. It's probably the memory of his hands on me, locking me in place. I didn't like it; not really, not at all. I hate it when people touch me like that, hell I hate it when people touch me. I forgive him though; everyone knows that Cloud is totally irrational after a few drinks. I wonder how much he drank of what to get him that hammered. And who he went with, he would go alone. It makes no sense.An odd feeling in the back of my head tells me it was Sora. Which doesn't make much sense either. Although, they've been hanging out together more lately. Weird.

It's probably nothing good, and definitely not something I want to get involved in. Sora, despite his lack of academic achievement, is rather skilled at coming up with inane and disastrous plots; Disastrous for everyone but him, of course. _Sora _never gets blamed, he's too innocent. All he has to is pout and widen his eyes and everyone melts. Riku is just as bad, he just flirts his way out of any situation. The combination is known to be deadly. Damnit Squall, I thought you were going to stop thinking about this. You're too easily distracted. I shake my head and flip the book open. I really wonder what Cloud was dreaming of, the desperation in his whimpers was… mildly disturbing. Maybe I should have woken him up or something, too late now I guess though. Oh, crap, book, right.

I jump when the phone rings and dash to answer it, welcoming any momentary distraction for my hazed maze of thoughts. Haha, hazed maze. Oh shit, I'm turning into Sora.

* * *

**(1)** I'm not on crack I swear. If Laguna is Leon's dad, and his last name is Loire, it makes sense that Leon as Squall's last name would be Loire. Right?**  
(2)**I'm not exactly sure how early graduation works. I know it's possible, but I don't know how. So, in this story, you just have to take some tests at the end of summer on the classes you studied over the summer, classes that you would take a super-condensed summer school version of… I guess**  
(3)**Asinine:  
1.Silly, stupid or unintelligent.  
2. Of, or resembling, an ass.  
3. Synonym: boorish, bovine, blundering, coarse, vulgar, etc.**  
(4)** Bullet with Butterfly Wings-Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

Love it? Hate it? Want me to burn in hell for writing it? 


	3. Your Face

Holy crap it's another chapter. Amazing. Yeah, it's kinda short, well, shorter than I'd like, but i felt like updating so yeah, here it be.

I'd like to thank you all who reviewed, I love you all, reading them makes me ridiculously happy (i even enjoy flames (though i haven't gotten any yet...) they just make me sad.

Disclaimer: Do you see me dancing with joy? No? Well, I guess I don't own Kingdom Hearts then, do I?

**EDITED: 12/4/08

* * *

Namine BGM: Malckik Gei-Tatu**

I wake up late; it's a quarter to four. I blink blearily at the Sex Pistols poster on my bedroom door (It was a gift from Demyx. I think the theory is it'll convince me to stop listening to Tatu constantly, so far it hasn't worked) and wonder why it's using Demyx's voice to sing the Peroxide song.

"Saw the boys they didn't care, walked around with Peroxide hair! Peroxide, peroxide!" it's yelling at me. I'm wondering why, does it want me to bleach it? I'm about to tell it I don't think that would be very good for it when it continues singing, this time it sounds like Larxene.

"Slather it on thick and rich, when your life feels like a bitch! Peroxide, peroxide!" Damn, that door has some voice-acting skill. Wait a second, nope, I'm just dumb. I blame the morning-ness. I slide out of bed and open my silent, non-musical door, and go down the hall to the bathroom.

"When fate takes a shit on you, brush it off and flush the loo! Peroxide, peroxide! Screw the damage and split ends, be the envy of your friends! Peroxide, perox-Oh, hey, Nami. What's up?" Demyx asks, finally noticing me leaning in the doorway. "Larx, you could have told me she was here!"

Larxene just grinned her crooked grin, eying me in my state of undress, not like I really care. The tent-like Sex Pistols shirt (another gift from Demyx) is more covering than some of the things I wear.

"Not so much," I shrug, "You do know that stuff fries your hair, right?"

Demyx grins like the insane little panda-muffin he is and shakes his newly blonde-ified hair, "I've got a gig tonight, gotta look extra sexy." He grins manically as he says it, smiling at his own joke. Demyx isn't sexy; cute sure, adorable, on a good day, sexy, no. Or maybe I'm just the wrong person to ask…

"Whatever man, your hair."

"What time is it?" Larxene cuts in.

I shrug noncommittally, "Bit before four."

"Shit. I have to go to work, Drop you off in town, Dem?"

He nods, Mohawk bobbing, "Yeah, rehearsal's at Zexy's place. Sorry to bleach and run, babe." The last part is directed at me, clearly. A wise man does not call Larxene "babe" and expect to escape unscathed.

"Whatever," I shrug, walking them down to the front door.

"You're coming tonight, right?" he asks on his way out. I nod and he gives me a not exactly fraternal kiss on the cheek. Larxene yells back at him to hurry his skinny ass up and his grin gets wider, he's always grinning. "Ah, my sweet cousin is calling me. Love ya, babe."

I see them off before yawning and making my way inside. Larxene, is not actually Demyx's cousin. Their mothers were best friends since like, ever, so when Larx's parents died in a car crash it made sense to everyone that she move in with Dem and his family. All of whom are equally chipper all the freaking time, I have no idea how she manages to deal with them.

Uncle left me a note in the kitchen. I, like dear sweet Larxy, am an orphan. But instead of being been taken in by a clan of cheerful, hyper apes (no offense meant of course) I live with a single unmarried scientist who I rarely see. He leaves me notes a lot though. Usually, it's mostly stuff like how I should remember to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables and do my homework; basic parenting stuff. Occasionally, it's more along the lines of, "Please explain the dye stains all over the new carpet" (Zexion's fault), or "Why is the pool water blue?" (Demyx), or "Clarify why you cut up the curtains and turned them into a mini-parachute" (Larxene, I swear… okay, that one might have been my fault. I swear, I'm innocent of the rest, including all the ones I didn't mention or he never noticed.) Despite my friends' belief that my house would be the fun one to mess up, he actually trusts me, most of the time. So the note system works well. Today's note is… different-

_Namine-_

_Would you please clean up after your friend's attempted "rocket science" on the roof? The scorch marks are irritating. Also, you're going to your cousin's tomorrow, don't forget. _

_Attached:_

_Envelope A) Plane tickets_

_Envelope B) Money for traveling expense. __NOT__ clothes __or__ hair dye._

This came as rather a shock to me, as I had no freaking clue I was visiting my cousin. I kind of thought he died, actually. Woops. All well, no harm no foul. This means I have to pack, and leave. Shit. I _like_ it here. I essentially am on my own, and have lots of awesome friends. Plus, summer vacation. Why can't I go visit my cousins during the school year, so I can miss school? Really, think reasonably people.

Shrugging I figure I'll pack later and go up stairs again to shower, Larx's picking me up around six and I take forever in the shower so I should get started.

So I shower, which really, you don't need to know the details of, do you? I waggle my eyebrows to myself as I walk down the hall to get dressed and realize that I'm most definitely going insane. Well, it had to happen eventually, no big loss, right? I spend the better part of half an hour hunting down my favorite white dress, something Larxene would never be caught dead in. She's the dress in all black type. Not the silver buckles and random straps kind of black, that's the kind that Zexion tends to wear, or used to. Larxene's more the classic, elegant sort of black, I guess you could say Audrey Hepburn-esque. The straight simple lines compliment her nicely; more on her later, lots more on her. First, I want to talk about Zexy, gives me something to do while I fix my hair, which takes way too much time.

The first thing about Zexy is that he would absolutely kill me if he knew I thought of him as Zexy. I think I'm safe as long as he remains as psychic as my bedroom door is musical. The only one allowed to call him that and live, is Dem. He has a bit of a soft spot for Dem, if you know what I mean. Dem is, predictably, oblivious. Zexion is, well, _emo. _Okay, not _really_. Like, he stopped cutting sophomore year, and he stopped buying _all_ his clothes at Hot Topic and he's a generally more cheerful person, so-Zexion used to be emo. Now he's just introspective and pessimistic. I greatly prefer the new and improved version.

It's really besides the point, because we should be talking about hair. Sexy Zexy as Dem calls him, again oblivious to the way Zexy squirms when he says this, has the absolute best emo-hair ever. It's all silvery (but sort of blue) and long in front, covering most of his face except for half of his lips and nose and like, two-thirds of an eye. Which, in case your wondering, is a really pretty sort of dark swirly blue. I'd love to get him to model for me, but he always says no. No one else really had a problem with it. _If _I did get to draw him, I'd do it like a comic books or Sin City (the movie) all India ink shadows and heavy highlights; stark black and white, except for his eyes. Those, I'd have in color, the only color in the picture, sure to draw the audience in, riveted to that one, intense eye.

He'd probably like it, but he's too stubborn to let me draw him, and I'm having trouble catching the precise shape of his jaw when I try to draw from memory. But anyway, he is really, really pretty; and _so _much fun to glomp. He squirms his shoulder and does this little thing with my name that makes it sound so angsty and sad. Then again, most things sound angsty when he says them. The boy _is _angst, like _damn_. (Again, he's not actually, but I like to dream. Which makes little sense because I didn't like him much when he was angst for real.

Skip forward a little chronologically and me and Larxy (another name that should never be spoken out loud) are sitting at this little table at the café listening to them play as she paints her nails a cool prismatic shade. Her nails and her hair are the few exceptions to her classily elegant look. Her hair is a pale-lemon color and she likes to do the front bits up like bug antennae, not quite sure why, it's safer not to ask.

She's really pretty in this nymph-ish sort of way, like something about her just screams nymph. She's got this cute little pink mouth and big aquamarine eyes, a nice complex sort of color. Like the ocean I see outside my window everymorning... Larxene, I think would be oil pastels, smudgy and vague, because you're never really sure if she's lying or not, but brilliant and vibrant. The vibrancy would suit her, she's… vivacious, in an angry sadistic sort of way. The point is; she's pretty. Zexion's pretty, gorgeous, sexy. I think, I'm not exactly the best judge, you know? Demyx, is cute, and huggable. Zexion and Demyx, together, you know how I mean, are cute and sexy. Now, if only Demyx would wake up and smell the man-sex, we could all get on with our lives, yeah?

I huff a little to myself, thinking about Dem's cluelessness pisses me off sometimes. No one notices, everyone is too busy watching Zex sing Volcano Girls with more mocking than should really be humanly possible and Demyx play his guitar like no other. The guy is seriously gifted. Marluxia is to the left (Dem's to the right) of Zex, on keyboards. Marluxia- Oh, shit, Marluxia. I forgot about him didn't I? Well, if you looked at the three of them, he'd be the first you'd say was gay. I mean really, his hair is pink! Yes, I know it's stereotyping, or whatever, of me, to judge based on appearance but really, _pink. _He is also, ironically, the straightest of the three. 'Cause Zex is gay as hell and Dem's… Dem, is just a little confused. Whatever, it works for him. But Marluxia is tried and true straight guy, other than when it comes to Zex.

They're starting the last song of tonight's set when I grab Larxene's hand (the nail polish had had sufficient drying time) and pull her out onto to the dance floor, to join couples and singles and whatevers already dancing. I love the contrast we make; curvy me in my white dress, slender Larxene in all black. It makes me smile and other's stare. Well, screw them, I say.

"Hey, Larxene," I say quietly, resting my head on her shoulder, fingers entwined as we sway in time to the music. "I'm going away for two months."

My timing is impeccable as the song ends right after I say it. She stares at me in surprise for a few moments, she might have said something, but the words were swallowed by the applause.

I clap my hands together enthusiastically because it's expected of me and Dem will mope and guilt me for weeks if I don't. And they're good, not at all to my taste, but still good. Dem sets his guitar down and leaps off the low stage, it's only elevated, like, four feet, and dashes over to us. He grabs me in a tight hug from behind and sways us from side to side.

"Hey, Nami! That was fun, way fun. This place has the best audiences ever! How were we? Were we good?" He says it all in a rush and I really don't think I caught all of it but I get the gist.

"You rocked, as always," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can, considering I can feel Larxene still staring at me. I finally understand that figure of speech about some one's gaze boring holes in your head. It's all becoming clear…

Über-hyper Demyx jumps back onto the stage and pounces on Zexion from behind.

"Zexy!" he's yelling, I can't see, but I know Zexion's eyebrow's twitching, he _hates_ that name, "Did you hear? We rocked! She said we rocked! Yay! We rocked! Yay!" He forces Zexion to sway like he did to me, poor, poor, Zexion, I can only imagine what the hell this is doing to his head. Demyx isn't usually so... excitable, he's just stage-high.

Turning aside from that oh so amusing scene, I face Larxene. Who is _still freaking staring at me._ What. The. Hell.

"You okay? I didn't mean t-"

I start but I'm interrupted by Demyx, who's back. This time with an arm slung around my shoulders, "Hey! Let's go to the beach! Woot! Beach!" He goes running off toward the door with his arms raised high in the air.

"Did some one give him sugar? I thought we had a talk about that?"

"That bastard stole my pixie sticks," states a pleasantly melodic voice to my right. Sugar-high as well it would seem.

I turn, Zexion's standing there, staring off after Demyx like he doesn't know whether to chase after him or just bang his head hard enough on the nearest solid surface to make him forget it all.

I just laugh, then ask, "You like pixie sticks?"

He stares at me. Zexion doesn't do death glares, he just _stares_ at you. It is the freakiest thing ever. Even Larxene, head-boring gaze falls behind. She does, however, have a fearsome death glare. Between the two of them staring at me, I choose Demyx.

* * *

_Wind is just air running away from your face.

* * *

_**Sora BGM: I'm Too Sexy-Right Said Fred**

Mmm, pancakes… Riku. Mmm… Shit, Cloud. Have to stop. Frick.

Hmm, Cloud's making his hangover face. Someone didn't take their painkillers this morning, or maybe they're just not working yet… whatever. Not like I care.

"Have fun last night?" I ask cheerfully, and maybe a bit too loudly considering the whole hangover thing. All well. Payback's a bitch like that. Wait, this isn't payback, this is entertainment. Wait, I was right the first time. It's payback for him interrupting Riku-pancake time. Oh, now he's pissed. Stupid Cloud.

"Did you and Leon come back and have hot monkey sex?" Riku asks. Yay, Riku is here! Now, if Cloud would just go back to being away…

"Panda sex!"

"Monkey sex!"

"Panda sex!"

"What the hell?" Cloud asks.

"Oh, sorry. Did you and Leon have panda sex or monkey sex?"

He's blinking in confusion. I don't get it, what's not to get?

"We-we didn't have sex," He turns to stare at me; "I thought me and your brother screwing scarred you, or whatever."

Poor, little Cloud, he doesn't think too good in the morning. Er, think too _well _in the morning. Shit.

I shrug and grin at him, "Well, you know…" I trail off, not knowing exactly what it is that he knows. "We need to do more shopping by the way. Your shoe collection is pitiful. _And_ your hair could use a slight trim. Some of the spikes are looking a little too long." Ha! Take that stupid Cloud's natural hair.

He rolls his eyes at me, as if to voice disdain upon my victory. Well, _somebody_ is clearly jealous, hmph, wonder who _that_ could be? He's scratching his head now, making his hair look even worse. Oh, this is a good day… sometimes, I get the feeling I'm immature and petty, and I have _no clue_ why I'd think that. I smile happily to myself and consider glomping Riku, but stupid Cloud is still here. Then again, it's the kitchen, so technically it's a public room, but still, why does he have to be here now?

"Speaking of your brother, where is Leon?" Huh? Oh, right. Cloud. And where is Leon he asks, well, I'll tell him! Ha!

"He's out," Riku says lazily eating an apple. Fine, maybe _he'll_ tell him, whatever.

"Yes, out. Since six this morning, with _Rinoa_."

Now Cloud's sad, he's got that 'I'm sad' look. Wait, that's what he always looks like, whatever. Should I feel guilty, 'cause I really don't? Well, maybe a little…

So, to make up for it I grab Cloud's hand and drag him upstairs. He's too busy wallowing in his emo to protest, Riku follows quietly behind, munching on that damned apple.

I shove Cloud through the door of my bathroom and tell Riku to get some scissors. All right, time for Sora, hair cutter extraordinaire! I hope…

He stares at me miserably. His face is honestly made to be emo, the way his lower lip is way fuller than the bottom one, he's got a perfect natural pout. Now, all we need to do is exploit it, and make him into an emo hottie! And then, _and then_, I shall rule the world! Or maybe not.

Riku, meanwhile, turned on the stereo in my room and is perching on the bathroom counter, watching us amusedly. Me staring at Cloud, him staring at me. Ooh, it's a stare off! I'm so gonna win! Wait, that's not right, is it? I take the scissors that Riku placed on the counter and grab the first of Cloud's spikes.

"Um," he squirms uncomfortably, "are you sure that you know what you're doing?"

"Absolutely darling," I say cheerily, putting on a faux accent and waving my hand in the air. I dance a little as I figure how long I should leave it. I _could_ cut it really short and make him look bad, but I'd feel bad. Besides, I like Cloud. I don't know if I like him with my brother, but hey, no harm in making him pretty.

"Are you sure you wanna dance while you do this?" Cloud asks uncertainly. Damn, he still doesn't trust me. Who do you think found those leather pants, he refuses to admit he adores but that's okay 'cause I already know, hm?

"Cloud, love, I assure you, the results of my dancing will undoubtedly be better, than the results of _your_ dancing."

From somewhere behind me, Riku is sniggering into his apple.

"Huh?"

"You mean you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Last night, we-"

"We went to that club, and you guys kept getting pissy, and then… and then Leon. Oh Shit! Jesus fucking christ, no wonder he's gone, oh god," Cloud's got his face in his hands making these pained little moaning noises.

"Quiet you," I drag his head up, gently, by his hair and set him to looking at me. "If he was that horrified, he wouldn't have taken you home, not to mention let you sleep in his bed."

Cloud turns red, "How-how did you-"

"I opened his door to ask him something, found a note and you instead. Anyway, the point is, you haven't _completely_ fucked up. Yet."

"I hate you." He says it bluntly, like a statement of fact.

"Now, now," I chide airily, "that's not very nice." I move around to stand behind him, "Riku, darling, you're doing make-up, right?"

Riku, my lovely lover, looks up from his magazine, (I think he has magical magazine summoning powers, I never see him get them, they are just suddenly, _there_) and nods once.

"M-make-up?" Cloud stutters. "Hell no! There's no way I'm doing that, no way in-"

"Hell?" I offer, "Yeah, you said that already. Now, didn't I say something about you being quiet?"

To my surprise, he does, be quiet, that is. And when I'm done with his hair, it didn't take too long, I just trimmed it, and Riku approaches him eyeliner in hand, I snuff my duct-tape centered plans of forced application 'cause Cloud's just sitting there and taking it. Weird.

"I look weird," Cloud says, squinting at his reflection in the mirror.

"That is because; you're wearing the clothes you slept in last night. Did you bring the clothes we bought?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Go fetch."

"The hell? I'm not your dog!"

"Yes, but you're ass is mine Spikey, so get to it."

He just glares at me. Riku gives him a look. Just one look that's all it takes.

I'll never know why, but he went. Maybe I was right all along about him being a submissive bitch. I wonder who would be on top, him or Le-Oh dear god, the images! Why do I this to myself? Why?

Cloud gets back with the bag of clothes and I toss it to Riku who digs through it. Riku's better at the fashion and make-up thing than I am. I just kick ass with hair. Who do you think cuts Riku's hair?

Technically, it's some lady at a hair salon, but I could probably do it just as well. Speaking of Riku, said gorgeous silver-haired sex god (at least, I think…) has tossed his choices at Cloud, who's shaking his head like there's no tomorrow.

"No fucking way in hell," he insists.

Riku smirks prettily, god he's hot, anyway, "Yeah, sure. That's what you said about the eyeliner. And the mascara. And, yeah, the lip gloss, too."

"Well, I was right about the lip gloss, I look like some fucking fairy."

"Which you are darling, now run along and put on the damned outfit, just to see how it looks."

And then he does. I think my boyfriend is god, or something like it. Me and god, we wait patiently for Cloud to come out of the bathroom, by which I mean I strongly resisted jumping him, Riku, that is. Too bad Cloud isn't changing in the closet, that could be funny. Heh.

The bathroom door opens slowly, reluctantly, and Cloud steps out in a similar fashion. Shit, we do good work, me and Riku. Riku and I, whatever.

"I look ridiculous, I can tell," Cloud pouts, which actually, works perfect with the outfit.

Riku shakes his head and leads him to the full length mirror hanging on the wall. In truth, Cloud looks… _good_, in an emo-goth kind of way. The tight leather pants go well with his boots (not the combat boots, the girly ones with a slight heel that make his legs look amazing) and combine to make his legs look, well, amazing. A black fishnet top I can't believe we (read: Riku) talked him into buying is all that's on his torso, other than some silver chains around his neck and a couple black sex bracelets on the left wrist, so his skinny little hip bones stick out above the waist of the low-rise pants. Combined with the black eyeliner, _slight_ mascara, and some shimmery gloss on that full lower lip of his, he looks, well…

To be honest, he looks kind of like a whore, but a really, really _hot_ whore. Oh. My. God. I just had, the absolute best idea, _ever_. Comment, inch forward-inch forward, slip in, grab, inch, inch, inch, dash.

Riku's voice is distant from this end of the hallway. "Cloud, really, you look good."

"Whatever," the reply is muffled and I know he's just sulking because he knows we were right and he was wrong, and all that nyah-nyah goodness, "I'm changing back now." A pause. I curl up in a tight ball and wish I was invisible. "Hang on, where are my- Sora, I'm going to kill you! I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Cloud appears in the doorway of my room. He looks pissed, fabulous and pissed.

Shit. I let out a squeak and run down the stairs.

Somewhere, Riku and Karma are laughing their asses off. Well, la-dee-fucking-da for them. _I_ have to run for my life. Unfortunately, he's a better runner, and he's not weighed down by his _heavy_ bondage pants. Yeah, that's right I stole his clothes. I'm so about to die. You know, I really wonder how the hell he can run in those pants. They were tight; like, _tight._

He catches up to me at the bottom of the stairs and jumps me. Not in a hot kinky kind of way, either. I clutch the clothes to my stomach and struggle to keep them from him. I really hope Riku is getting a bloody camera right now, or else I'll die in vein.

The sound of the front opening startles us both, strike that, I'll die a happy, happy panda.

"L-leon," Cloud stutters, falling off me. I was sort of on all fours. You know, it probably looked like he was trying to rape me. Interesting.

His kohl-lined eyes are wide and staring up at the vision of his demise and my salvation; Leon, accompanied by none other than Rinoa.

Karma and Riku are laughing again; this time at least, it's not at me.

* * *

Sigh, I love writing Sora, he's so much fun,

Feed back is so totally appreciated. It honestly makes me update faster.


	4. Showerhead

This chapter took a while, sorry. I was having inspiration troubles. Parts of this I wrote literally write before I posted so there are probably grammatical errors and such. I'm sorry but I really just wanted to get it posted. I reread it once or twice so it shouldn't be too bad...

Again I thank all the wonderful reviewers, I love you all.

Disclaimer: Yeah, don't own kingdom hearts. Damn shame.

**EDITED 12/05/08

* * *

Zexion BGM: Down Where We Belong-Wumpscut**

We end up at the beach, of course. We have an odd tendency to follow Demyx like cattle. Which makes us sound dumber than shit, wait, we _are_ dumber than shit. Or at least, _they_ are. I know, I know. I'm sweet right? Whatever, like I give a fuck what you think. Namine follows Demyx because they're best friends, and Namine doesn't really come up with ideas.

I'm not saying it's a bad thing or anything; it's just a statement of fact. Larxene follows them because she has an odd paranoia that they'll hook-up if she isn't there to chaperone. A fear I may or may not feed in moments of extreme abject boredom. Excuse me while I metaphorically clear my mental throat. And me… well, I follow Demyx because for one thing, I honestly don't have much better stuff to do, I tend to get depressed when I'm alone, and that leads to demented melodrama worthy only of infatuated twelve-year-old girls; and angst, can't forget the angst. And there's that whole thing where I like-on-the-verge-of-love him, but we really, really don't need to go there. (That's an overstatement, it's merely a momentary fluke of life… Yeah, right. I'm not in love with him, not at all.)

We've settled onto the sand, and are passing around the bottle of cheap wine Dem smuggled out of his parents house, when the quiet rhythmic lapping of the waves is interrupted by Demyx wailing and throwing himself on Namine's lap; his head on her thigh as she lies half-propped up on her side. Suddenly, I really, really hate life. Funny how that works.

"Don't go, Nami! Please don't go!" he hurries his face in her leg and just smiles softly and pets his head a little, like you would a cat. His head must be a sensitive spot as his soft whimpering is interrupted by quiet purrs. Does anyone have a butcher's knife? I could really use one; the question being, on whom?

Luckily, Larxene is saving the day, and wow that's an odd concept. She hauls Demyx out of Namine's lap and kisses the girl harshly, more of a, "fuck you" to Demyx than a, "I love/want you" to Namine. Not that the latter really minds, as she giggles and pulls Larxene back down when she pulls back. Demyx watches with mild disinterest for a second or two before rolling his eyes and turning to me, "Hey, Sexy, let's wander. They're boring."

Here are some fun facts about Demyx ('cause I bet Namine (that wench) didn't describe him right.)

-eternally happy unless you deprive him of music for more than about three of four hours, then he gets sadistic and snarky (note: the longer the time spent in this state, the lower the quality of music required for the reversion process)

-should never be given sugar, or a microphone

-addicted to bleach and chocolate chip waffles

-allergic to shellfish (don't ask how I know that, I really don't want to go there)

-uses "sex" instead of "cool", "hot", "awesome", etc. (ex:_Wow, those pants are so sex!_) misunderstandings are frequent and awkward

-calls me Sexy, because he didn't really like Zexy

-has absolutely no attention span to most things nonmusical

-perfect (okay, not even close, but sometimes it seems like it)

So, Demyx and I were wandering down the beach (with the wine, thank you very much, like we'd leave it for them) but then he wants to swim and I don't (childhood trauma, don't fucking ask) so Demyx takes off his clothes, and I most definitely do not stare, except for his boxers and goes off like a kid in a candy store. I'm left to sit on the beach, with the wine, and think about the stars and how pretty they are, and how I don't really want to go to college in the fall, but at the same time I really do but-whatever. I drink more of the wine then is really good for me.

I'm roused from my musings by Demyx, standing victoriously above me; bare, wet chest gleaming silver in the moonlight. "Sexy! Zexy! Come 'ere, come 'ere! You gotta follow! I found something, guess what it is? It's so sex! Just like you, Sexy! Now come on! You have to see it!"

Did I mention he talks ridiculously fast. Oh, well, he does. He also, evidently, grabs my hand from empty wine bottles to pull me to my feet. And hey look it, he's doing that right now. Sex!

I stagger and sway as I try to find my balance, and he's bouncing childishly up and down on the soles of his feet, waiting for me to come.

"Sexy, are you drunk?" he's stopped bouncing and is staring at me with concern.

He's insane, insane and hot. Insanely hot for that matter. Of course, I'm not drunk, I'm just… warm. I love life so fucking much I wanna give the whole fucking world a big hug and then smother it with a fucking pillow, because that is love, bitch, _that is love._

It takes five seconds of him staring at me and half a minute of him bent over double laughing before I realize that my inner monologue isn't as inner as I thought. Well holy shit on a pogo stick am I fucked.

"You-you-" that's all he an get out before he's too busy laughing to get anything else out. And for one absolutely awful moment I'm positive he's going to say something about the "insanely hot" portion of that god-forsaken speech. Oh Shiva, am I fucked. "You are _so_ drunk," he finally chokes out, laughing so hard there are tears in the corners of his eyes.

I put my hands on his shoulders, to try and steady him I suppose, talk about the blind leading the blind, but instead I end up shoving him down into the sand. I have no clue if that was intentional or not, either way he's there, staring up at me with his pretty blue eyes sad. And then, probably because I wasn't balanced in the first place I fall down after him and I'm kneeling in the sand with one leg between his and my hands are on his shoulder's again, because I'm seriously I'm having trouble with this whole balance thing and he's still pouting at me and he's so fucking warm and I'm not thinking straight and I want to explain but…. but I can't and I don't know how and it probably wouldn't even work any way, even if I could find the words and the whole thing is just a mess.

"I-I'm not!" is all I manage to stutter out before I attack him, or at least his mouth. I honestly think that's the only way to describe my wild ill-conceived lunge at him. He's more surprised then I am he falls backward onto the sand and one of his hands is resting awkwardly on my hip. Like he doesn't actually want it to be there but has no clue where else to put it. The assault on his mouth lasts only instants before I turn to a far more interesting, and less defended target, namely, his neck.

I bite it, savoring the taste of sea water and vanilla and Demyx. My mind is reeling from the way he's pressed against me, or me against him, I don't know the difference, and the little sounds he makes that might be whimpers of pain or moans of pleasure and I don't know the difference to that either so I just keep biting and licking and nipping and sucking and he keeps making those odd, enigmatic noises and squirming up against me, and since when am I straddling him? I'm melting from the heat of alcohol and the heat of Demyx, and I'm melting into Demyx like candle wax, clinging to him, pressing so tightly into him and he's arching against me as I savage his neck and graze my fingers down his back ignoring the sharpness of the grains of sand clinging there. I'm melting and boiling and burning and drowning and I need to destroy him but I want to save him and I'm torn betwixt the two. Because he's just so damned _innocent_, it's not like innuendo flies over his head or he blushes at sex jokes, he's just so-

With a cry I repel from him and we're both sprawled in the sand, panting, and one side of his neck is stained an angry red his eyes are mostly closed as he pulls his head up off the ground to stare at me, his lips, those perfect pink lips, they shape to form a question and he almost gets it out when a voice calls across from somewhere in the black, "Hey, guys! Where d'you go?"

* * *

_"I loved you while he was in you in the shower, did, in joy and ecstasy, your eyes begin to water?"

* * *

_**BGM: Hold-Gravity Kills**

Honestly, I expected him never to talk to me again. I wouldn't blame him, not one little bit. I _would_ completely blame myself (which is wholly precise and accurate) and spend a week holed up in my room with chocolate, beer, cigarettes and bad horror flicks.

The point being, I did not expect to wake up the next morning to him flopping on top of me as I sleep peacefully in my bed.

"B'b-wah?" I say oh so coherently in my morning state. For the record I'm not really hung over. I read somewhere that most alcoholic hangovers are actually due to the sugar content of the alcohol, not the alcohol itself, which would explain my mental, if not vocal, lucidity. That wine last night was sour shit, with an awful aftertaste I had very little time to appreciate as the taste of vomit soon covered it, or maybe that's why I'm not hung over when Demyx wakes me up, I've already been awake and puked up all my stomach's contents.

"You have to get up now," Dem tells me seriously in answer to my, er, question, from his seat atop my stomach.

"T-time?" Yeah, I don't really do speech in the morning, got a problem, go fuck yourself.

"6:45!" Demyx chirps cheerily.

I shudder and glare, "And why the fuck do I have to wake up now, pray tell?" I snarl sweetly, hmm, bit of an oxymoron there. Least I'm capable of speech again.

"Because we have to!"

I roll over, a difficult feat considering he's sitting on top of me, "Make me." I, am the paragon of maturity.

He leans over me, his arms bent, hands meeting in the middle of my back, elbows above my shoulders, his head leaning in close to mine, his lips _almost _brushing my ear, what the fuck he's doing, I have no idea, and he whispers, "But, Sexy! We-we have to! 'Cause Naminé's leaving today and we just have to see her off at the airport, don't we? It's what friends are for!"

I stifle a groan into the charcoal grey pillow beneath me, "I repeat: make me!"

He leans closer, his lips definitely brushing my ear, "I probably could you know," he whispers so quietly, so… _seductively_, into my ear, my head spins and I have no clue what he fuck he's playing at but it's messing with my head in all kinds of bad ways.

I roll over and realize he's lying on top of me, I didn't notice through the thick blankets I like to cocoon myself in, temperature suicide on the Islands but whatever, the realization doesn't stop me from twisting around so for the second time I find myself pinning him beneath me, only this time, I've got his wrists pinned one-handed above his head and I'm using the other hand to maintain balance, and, yes, shit, I'm straddling him again.

He's not fighting back though, just staring up at me with those pretty blue eyes of his totally cool and acceptant and I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to be thinking or doing right now 'cause rationality ran away screaming about ten minutes ago.

Then my eyes land on the sides of his neck, you know, the one I mauled last night, well, that's just it, the skin, it's so bruised, and there's marks like I made him bleed, and the whole half of his neck is mottled brown and purple and my stomach churns and I feel so sick. I pull down the collar of his black Oxford and see a half scabbed-over bite mark, "D-Demyx-"

He shrugs his shoulder, and looks away, "It's fine."

I release him, and sit up, sliding off of him, he shifts to sit next to me, "No, Demyx, it's not! I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-"

"I said it was fine okay," he cuts me off quietly, staring at the once-white toes of his converse all stars.

"Dem-"

"Are you gonna get dressed or not? Because you know Larxene won't be happy if you make her wait to see Nami."

"Larxene's waiting?"

Demyx nods, happily, completely innocent, as if he did not just deviously maneuver a complete topic change.

"Shit!" I jump off the bed and dash to my closet as Demyx rolls over to the stereo on the desk by my bed.

I pay no mind and keep dressing, safe in the knowledge that Demyx won't turn around, as the familiar husky (I think that's the right word, husky…) male voice starts weaving his wonderful web of subtle lyrics, and mellow, _sultry _instrumentals.

"_Hurt me. Break me. Take me."_

"Shit, Zex! I didn't know you listened to kink-music!" he exclaims happily from the bed.

I blush furiously, "I do _not_ listen to kink-music!" I insist, although he has a point as I hastily fasten the studded belt necessary to hold up my five sizes too big pants.

"Right," he drawls sarcastically, rolling off the bed, and _sauntering _over to me. Before I really have time to question it he's pressing his back against mine and _moaning_ in this breathy, husky voice, "Hurt me, break me, take me!" As he slides down a little, rubbing against me.

Breathe. Just. Breathe. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say, pulling away. He's persistent though, wrapping an arm around my waist me as he presses against me again, "You're perfection in my eye! Hurt me, break me, take me!" he's _begging_ in my ear too the music.

I try to pull way but he presses tighter, "First of all, that time it goes hurt me, break me, _fuck_ me, and second of all, don't sing, we've talked about this." He's actually not that bad, I just like to be an ass.

He glares at me, and lets me go. "Fine, let's hear you sing it, Mr. Singer!"

I stare at him, incredulous, "No."

"Fine, I'll just wait here till you do. And Larxene won't leave unless I'm with her, or else Nami will yell at her, and it will be entirely your fault. And I'll tell her that, too!"

I glare at him, sometimes, I really, really hate him.

* * *

_"I loved you while he was in you in the shower, did, in joy and ecstasy, your eyes begin to water?"

* * *

_**Cloud BGM: Slutgarden-Marilyn Manson**

I, for one, am officially convinced that Sora is the fucking antichrist. That or Karma really, really, really hates me. What the fuck did I ever do to her, er, it? I ask you. What have I done? Why have you forsaken me? If you want to go all chop suey about it.

So, we're sitting on the couch, the L-shaped one, where this whole thing started, yeah, you know the one. It's Sora and I sitting on one side, Riku and Rinoa are sitting on the other side. Riku has his usual cocky smirk, and Rinoa has this simpering little giggling expression, she's trying to hide it behind one of her stupid manicured hands, like I wouldn't know. That stupid fucking bitch, why the fuck is she here? She has no right to be here? For that matter, what the hell is she doing out with Leon, that whore? If she kissed him I'll kill myself. Wait, strike that. I'll kill _her_. Ha! Take that, slut!

And Leon, Leon is just pacing, alternating between glaring at Sora and shooting looks of supreme confusion at me. And did I mention that I still haven't gotten to change my fucking clothes! I'm dressed like a slut and Rinoa, who actually is a slut, will start staring at me whenever she thinks I'm not looking. I catch her once, she just smiles in this way that I'm guessing is supposed to make me swoon, or some shit like that. Pfft, that has a snowmans chance in hell of success. When she isn't simpering or staring at me, she's staring at Riku, Sora and Leon. What the fuck? Whatever happened to monogamy? Or at least some sense of subtlety when you eye someone like they are a piece of filet mignon. Slut!

How does Leon not hate her? Is he not getting the huge freaking slut vibes coming off her?

Leon stopped pacing finally. Oh, shit. He's staring at me. That is never, ever, a good sign. "Cloud, would you care to explain."

"It's Sora's fault!" I say quickly, 'cause hey, it is! Mr. Oh lookit I'm gonna make you look like a five cent ho then steal your clothes so you can't change back right when my epitome of all that is sexy brother happens to walk in with his ridiculously sluttly girlfriend-thing. Have I mentioned how much I hate her?

Leon doesn't seem satisfied, he's still staring.

"Um, it's Sora's fault, sir." I try again, hoping the "sir" will be the magic word.

He rolls his eyes skyward, burying his face in his hands. "What the fucking fuck people? I leave you alone for just a little whi-urgh, whatever! Never freaking mind! Sora, your ass is grounded, get in your room. Cloud, go-go get changed," he heaves a heavy sigh, and what the fuck is he yelling at me for, I ask you? What the hell is wrong with him? Clearly, it's Rinoa's fault, I glare at her, a lot, she's too busy staring at Riku's ass, have I mentioned that I hate her? A lot.

Sora pouts up at his wonderfully sexy older brother, "But, that's not f-"

"If the world "fair" comes out of your mouth it'll be two weeks instead of one."

Sora opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before pouting, and storming off to his bedroom.

"So, Rinoa, uh, my room?" Leon asks.

I'm not glaring, I'm not glaring, I am not fucking glaring. Fine! I'm glaring, but really wouldn't you? I fucking hate her! Gah!

So, I'm sitting there glaring after them, thinking of what they or may not be doing up there all alone in Leon's fucking bedroom, oh god, bed. Eww, that is so vile.

"The hell do you want?" I ask Riku, who just poked me in the shoulder.

"Let's go, unless you want to stay here."

Hmm, stay here and dwell or go do… _something_ with Riku. "Yeah, sure." I sigh miserable and follow him outside. He leads me to his shit-box (no offense meant of course) sedan.

"Riku, man, your car sucks more cock than Rinoa," I grumble, climbing onto the dark red upholstered passenger seat and pray it isn't loaded with infectious diseases. God, I'm such a priss sometimes.

"I'm not entirely sure if that's possible," Riku smirks, starting the car with a noise that is remarkably similar to a cat choking to death on a broken squeaky toy. "And _Emily_ is my dear sweet baby girl, you ho."

"You named your car Emily?"

"Fuck you. 'Least I _have_ a car, not some pretentious moped!"

"_Fenrir_ is _not_ a pretentious moped. He is a beautiful, wonderful motorcycle that could kick _Emily_'s ass any day of the week."

"You named your bike Fenrir?"

"It's a big ass wolf in Norse mythology. Who the fuck is Emily."

"My dead mother." The answer is stated calmly as he pauses at a red light. Haha, red light district. Yeah, so anyway, shit…

"Er, sorry bout that then. Didn't know."

He shrugs and tosses his hair, which really should look girly, but just looks hot, "Don't be. It's cool."

The car is silent for a few more blocks before I can't help but sigh out, "I really hate her."

"Why does ken date he-er?" Riku sings. I stare at him for a few seconds.

"Ken is such a man!" I belt out finally.

"I'd do all I can!" Riku replies perfectly in time.

"Just to screw him, we just wanna do him!" we chorus, loudly. I laugh and look out the window, and spot an old couple in a freaking Mercedes staring at us in terror, I smirk and wave.

"Someone you know?" Riku asks, seeing the action as we're stuck in traffic and he has nothing to do but look around.

"No, just a terrified old couple."

"My favorite kind," he murmurs softly, "face me for a second."

I turn to look at him and find his thumbs covering my lips and his face coming closer. When he starts pretending to kiss his thumbs I catch on and slide a hand around his neck, letting out a loud fake moan, just for the hell of it. **(1)**

I pull away and laugh my ass of as the couple switches to another lane over. "Seriously though, what the hell?"

"How the hell would I know that? It's not like there are reasons for this whole thing. You know, love, infatuation, whatever."

"He is _not_ in love with her," I insist desperately.

"He might be, I don't know."

"He isn't," I mutter, my forehead pressed to the glass of the window, feeling every jolt and bump vibrate my teeth 'cause the shocks are non-existent.

"Whatever," Riku shrugs, concentrating on the road now that we're moving again. I continue to let my teeth rattle around in my skull until I feel the car slide over and stop, I never did master parallel parking, but that's beside the point.

"Why are we here?" I ask. Life has no point.

"I want a fucking brownie bitch, now get out of car."

"Gosh, you're sweet," I mutter sarcastically as I struggle with the door, which seems to be stuck.

"Shit, sorry, that door has… troubles."

I glare at him and slam my shoulder into the fake wood paneling. Pain flares along the nerves and into my brain, but I don't really care.

Inside the café Riku points me to a small table for two in the back corner and I shuffle off, giving death glare to any customers who look at me. Not that it's really their fault, but what-the-fuck-ever. See? Now I'm in a bad mood and swearing all the time, stupid slut.

Some blonde chick at a nearby table is gawping at me, I hiss and bare my teeth, she suddenly becomes absorbed in her book. Riku sets a plate with a cookie in front of me, soon followed by a steaming cup of … something.

His own food is set at his places as he sits.

"You know, you should save money for buying a new car, not me a cookie," I'm kind of joking, like I know how not buying me one cookie really wouldn't make that big of difference, but I say it anyway. I don't know why.

"You_need_ a cookie. Besides, I _have_ enough money. There's this cute little Saturn, at the used car lot down by the mall, you know the one, yeah, well, Sora keeps trying to talk me into buying. Says Emily isn't safe because the shocks are shot and the brakes only work about 85 of the time and antifreeze doesn't work, and some other reasons that I don't remember. But that's not the point, the point is, better, isn't always better." He finishes off his little sage speech with a bite of his brownie and a cat smile. Like how in animes the characters eyes look likes carats when they're happy, yeah, like that.

"Um, is that supposed to be one of those allegory speeches? Like, is that saying that Leon loves Rinoa even though she's crap or something?"

Riku shakes his pretty silver head, aqua eyes laughing, "No, that's just me, declaring my eternal love for my car."

"Actually, it _could_ be applied to you and Sora. Like how you love him even though he's evil and conniving, or tries to be." Another blonde is staring at me, the hell? I glare at her too and she stops looking, but wait the blonde from before is! What the hell…

"There isn't a moral," Riku says simply and maybe a little sharply.

"Or maybe, it means that that Leon'll love me, even though Rinoa is better, but wait that can't work…" I glare at the guy behind the counter who is also staring at us. Am I missing something?

"Honestly, Cloud, there isn't a moral. Okay?"

"Yeah, uh…" I trail off, not really paying attention to the sounds being emitted from my throat as I scan the café and notice more people looking at us, but really generally at me, "whatever you say. Um, am I crazy or are there a hell of a lot of people staring at us?"

"Um, Cloud," Riku starts, starting a chocolate croissant, he gestures it at me, a few buttery flakes fall to the plate.

"What?"

He gestures again, and makes a funny face that looks he's choking or something, I glance down at my chest, since I _think_ that's where he's pointing, and see nothing but the fishnet shirt I'm wear-fuck. How the hell did I forget to change clothes?

* * *

_"I loved you while he was in you in the shower, did, in joy and ecstasy, your eyes begin to water?"

* * *

_**Leon BGM: Open Road Song-Eve 6**

Rinoa's lips are soft and pliant as they press against mine. I wrap an arm tighter around her waist as her lips part and her tongue probes at my bottom lip. The heat of her mouth contrasts wonderfully with the coolness of her hands, one fisting in my hair, the other resting on my neck so the thumb lies in the hollow beneath my ear. In a way, it's kind of perfect; the two of us sitting on my bed, kissing so naturally, like we know just what to do. The way she tastes just right.

The feel of her chest pressing against mine is pleasant and warm, and it's funny how her cool skin heats mine up. She's a bit of a biter, I decide, as she nips at my bottom lip, then tugs at my earlobe with her teeth. I moan and shudder as pleasant little needles heat spread through me like cracks on a frozen lakes surface and her tongue trails hotly up my neck. It's all so perfect; the half rays of sun filtered green through tree leaves, the smell of her hair and the weight of her pressing on my lap.

But if it's all so perfect, why is Cloud all I'm thinking abo

* * *

**(1)**This is something my friend taught me. If you put the tips of your thumbs on someones mouth and kiss the thumbs, it looks like you're kissing the person. I recommend doing it with someone of the opposite sex on a subway or other public place. It's fun XD

* * *

Ok, the song Demyx sings is in fact Hold by Gravity Kills (ie, the bgm for that section) and the song Riku and Cloud sing is The Gay Barbie Song by Andy Dick (I think) which I don't have but really want... whatever.

Divider is **Showerhead** by **Eve 6**

You know you want to click the little button and tell me what you think.


	5. Kinda I Want To

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long; my dad was being a computer hogging-whore. So, I ate his English muffins. Fear my toasted revenge!  
...  
...  
So anyway, yeah, really sorry this took so long, I feel all guilty and such.

For those you who reviewed, I thank thee kindly. Same to all who've faved or alerted this story. It illuminates my dreary world.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it, sadly...

Anyway, enough of my rambling, Here be story.

* * *

_"I know it's not the right thing, and I know it's not the good thing... but kinda i want to."_**

* * *

Leon BGM: Kinda I Want To-Nine Inch Nails**

I'm not thinking about him in a gay sort of way of anything. Just, you know, thinking. Mainly along the lines of 'Why was he dressed like that?' and 'Why was he on top of Sora?' See, nothing wrong there. Nothing like 'Those pants are really tight" or, 'Hey, he's got a nice ass' or appreciation of his lightly tones abs, nope not at all. And besides, even if I was to think something like, say, noticing his eyes were really brought out by the eyeliner (Eyeliner? What the fuck?) and it looked nice on him, well, there's nothing wrong with that. Thinking he looked nice. Hypothetically, of course, this is all, so very hypothetical.

I mean really, nothing wrong there, just saying, not that I was, that he looked _nice_. Nothing like 'Wow, he's hot' or 'I kind of want to jump him', yeah, nothing like that. I wasn't _attracted_, I was just saying he looked… pleasing. Not attractive, _pleasing._ And where is the harm in that?

And besides, even _if_, note the 'if', I were to be _slightly_, like, a tiny, tiny, _tiny_ bit attracted to Cloud, it-it wouldn't _mean_ anything, right? Like, I'm still straight. See, see this girl beside me, this amazing girl I'm watching the Boondock Saints with, yeah. See? Girl; as in, the opposite of boy. And I like her, and I want her, which makes me so very straight. _Si?_

So we're lying there right, Rinoa and I, and she's kind of on my lap but not quite and we're watching the scene where the saints, Connor and Murphy, they go to this weapons shop, and it's like a five year old in a candy shop, I swear, when the door freaking slams open, and Cloud storms in. He doesn't notice us though.

He's talking, muttering really, to himself, something along the lines of "How the fuck did I not change my clothes?" and indeed, he didn't, and he's still wearing those damned leather pants. You know the ones, the ones are skin-freaking-tight and make his ass look really ho-like nothing out of ordinary I assure you; yup, completely normal, absolutely not sexy, not in the least. So anyway, he's bending the fuck over, like he's _trying_ to drive me insane, you know, not that's it's working or anything. And he completely doesn't notice us, right? And he just takes his shirt off, not that the black meshy fish-something-or-other material was really doing that great of a job covering him in the first place. But he pulls his shirt off, and stands there for a second just glaring at the floor, and he's breathing kinda heavy and he's all flushed, and I'm sure he'd look quite attractive, if I was girl, or some one who did guys.

I think I might have made some noise, I don't know what, and that's when he glances up. He just stares at us for a second, and those big blue eyes of his just get bigger, and bigger and bigger, till I'm kind of wondering how his eyeballs don't just fall out of his skull because his eyes are that damned big, and then he turns bright red, which is odd, because he's usually pretty laid back, and blurts something that was probably an apology but he spoke way to fast for it to be at all coherent. Then he just grabs some clothes and runs for the door, tail between his legs, as it were.

* * *

_"I know it's not the right thing, and I know it's not the good thing... but kinda i want to."

* * *

_

**Axel BGM: The Perfect Drug-Nine Inch Nails**

6 A.M., Roxas' bed. Too early to be awake, but if I'm going to be awake, at least it's here. I love Roxas' bed. This is going to sound egotistical, I know it is, but I love his bed 'cause it smells like me; like cinders smoke and Axe deodorant spray (it may be the smell the ladies love, but I've never heard _him_ complain). There, you think I'm a megalomaniac now or something, don't you? Well you can just get bent asshole, 'cause I'm not.

His bed smells like me and him (he smells like soap, it's a nice, clean sort of smell, in case you're wondering). It's always his bed, you see, because his parents are never here and couldn't give a shit about their only kid. Makes me sad, the way my bed only smells like soap when the sheets have just been put on fresh. Other than that, it smells like cinders.

I sigh miserably and curse my parents for caring, burying my face in Roxas' bare shoulder, Roxas being currently naked. I must confess; a naked Roxas is one of my favorite kinds of Roxi (being the plural of Roxas, pronounced Rocks-eye. Different from Roxy (Rocks-ie), being an affection nickname, usually following Foxy) except for the pouting-angry Roxas who shoves me away and won't talk to me, even when it isn't my fault, which it sometimes is. But none of that matters right now, 'cause he's turning around and looking at me with that warm-sleepy smile he gets when he isn't awake quite yet.

I smile back and kiss him softly, my arms tight around his waist.

He yawns and stretches, catlike, his body brushing against mine, "Morning." He licks his lips sleepily and I'm entranced by the movements of his soft pink tongue.

I pounce, rolling over on top of him and crushing my lips to his, plying his open, questing for that damned tongue of his. I feel him smirk as his tongue flits out to brush against mine before vanishing. Well, two can play that game. My hands go wandering under the sheets, tracing the projecting curves of his hip bones with the tips of my nails. He shudders, moans and suddenly his tongue is twining around mine and I'm the one moaning helplessly as his fingers brush adroitly over my nipples.

Here, have a flashback to keep you entertained.

_It's one of those Hollywood Halloween movie type of rainstorms. You know the kind. With the thunder so loud you can hear it over the headphones you switched to when the power died no matter how loud you crank the volume and the lightning that illuminates your whole freaking room and always manages to take you by surprise and blind you as it throws your possessions into a grotesque high-relief you honestly expect monsters to come leaping out of. _

_Axel, currently a young man of seventeen, drudges drearily by the roadside, heavy jeans waterlogged from the knee down as he drags his combat boots through the roadside mud. Shivering into his soaked hoodie, he attempts to stay warm by shoving his left arm into the right sleeve and dragging the material of the left sleeve with it, the attempt is futile as his flesh is clammy and the black cotton is too soaked to do anything but assist the problem. _

_He shifts over, further into the heavy sludge as the rumble of an approaching car and the self-same cars headlights make themselves known to the wet redhead. He keeps his face averted as the car passes, really not wanting to see some happy _dry_ person driving merrily along. Only the car doesn't pass, it pulls to a stop along side him. Axel hesitates for a fraction of a second, then looks up. The driver's face is blurred by the water streaming down the window. Axel hesitates again, then approaches, the window slides down making the drivers face visible. It's a blonde teen Axel doesn't recognize, his full, pink mouth is twisted like he knows he's going to regret what he's about to do._

"_You need a ride?" He has a nice voice. Young sounding, but nice, and currently tinged with worry._

_Axel's eyes scan the highway shiftily. On the one hand, getting into a car with a stranger who could be a rapist of serial killer, not sounding like the best idea. On the other hand, _rain; lots and lots of cold penetrating rain.

_He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyeing the blonde, "You a rapist?"_

_The blonde blinks, "No. Not that I would tell you if I was. I'm not a serial killer or anything else if that's what you're thinking. I just realize it is cold and raining and you're miles from anywhere."_

_The logic seems sound. Axel shifts again, before nodding assertively, "Fuck yes, then!"_

_The blondes lips part in what might be a smile or a very short laugh, he digs in the backseat for something as Axel jogs across the road to the passenger side door. When he gets in, Roxas tosses a towel at him. _

_The older teen wraps it gratefully around him, before eyeing the blonde skeptically. "You keep a towel in your car?"_

_He shrugs; a little defensive. "I _had_ swim team practice today. It got cancelled when they figured the power would die."_

"_Ah," Axel nods and shivers into the towel, before letting it fall loose as he removes the waterlogged hoodie from his skinny body. "You got anywhere you wouldn't mind me putting this?" he asks. Axel has an odd accent that Roxas can't place. It's pleasant sounding, just odd. _

_Roxas shrugs, "Where ever. The upholstery in this car is pretty shit. My name's Roxas, by the way."_

_Axel shrugs, not wanting to agree, "Well, at least you have a car. Axel."_

"_It _does_ come in handy. Listen I don't want to be rude or anything but I really like this song, mind if I turned the volume up so I can actually hear it?"_

_Axel nods and shrugs, the movements contradictory, "Sure, whatev." His brows furrow at an oddly familiar sound of bells, soon followed by a rhythmic bass beat, then a higher, blatantly synthesized treble. _

_His thin face breaks into a grin as a low voiced male singer begins vocalizing in German. "Hak nana, I know nana is ba!" He sings along, or tries._

_Roxas chokes on nothing and stares at him, "I'm pretty sure that's not how the lyrics go."_

_Axel shrugs unconcerned, continuing his butchering of the song, "Whatev, I don't speak Dutch."_

_Roxas blinks too blue eyes, "It's German."_

_Axel shrugs, "Yeah. Like I said, whatev."_

_Roxas makes a face that says '_Wow, he's kind of a dumb ass. Why exactly did I have to pick him up? Nice eyes though, love the tattoos. Nice everything actual-shit'

_The oblivious Axel continues "singing" and staring out the window._

_Shaking his head to clear it of unwanted thoughts, Roxas shifts gears and asks, "So, where are you headed?"_

"_26 Pine Hill."_

"_Isn't that the Leonhart place?"_

"_Yeah, you know Leon?"_

"_I met him once for like, half a second. No, I know Sora. He's on my swim team, and we used to be pretty close, but I haven't seen him so much since I transferred to private school"._

"_Private school, eh? Sounds like fun."_

"_Oddly enough, when all your friends are assholes, not so much."_

"_Oh," Axels makes a 'well-then' face and stares out the window some more. He likes the window, the window is safe. The window doesn't have sad blue eyes and pouting mouth that seems to scream for Axel to ravage it. _

_Roxas slams on the brakes when he sees the tree branch that has fallen across the street. "Hey, Axel, this is kind of the only way I know to get to Sora's place, so, uh, you know any other ways?"_

"_Urgh, not exactly. Sorry."_

"_Right. Well, I can take you to your place then, where do you live?"_

"_That way," Axel, points down the road past the fallen tree._

"_Well. Fuck."_

_Axel nods, "Right. Pretty much."_

"_Everything is closed, you know? So, uh, anywhere else I can take you?" Roxas asks, sounding hopeless. He looks to Axel for direction, Axel just shrugs. "Fuck," Roxas repeats, lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout. Axel grabs hold of that soft, almost feminine face, and kisses the pouting lips. Roxas is still for a second, then two, unused to this experience of strangers kissing him in his car, then he cautiously puts a hand on Axel's shoulder and moves his lips against the redheads. Axel's hand moves to the mess of blonde spikes, gingerly tugging to reposition his head so it was more comfortable. _

_In Axel's opinion, the kiss was entirely too short, the blonde jerked back when Axel hesitantly ran his tongue along the full bottom lip. Roxas leans back against the car door, letting out a long, shuddering breath, wondering where the hell that came from._

"_Can we get to your place?" Axel asks, his voice oddly breathy, he shouldn't be this affected, not by just a kiss._

_Roxas' blue eyes narrow, "I'm not having sex with you."_

_Axel's emerald eyes drift toward the dingy beige ceiling of the car, "I'm not asking you to. It was just a question. I'd rather not wait for them to move this tree in your _car_." Axel's lips are dry, he wants to kiss Roxas again, he licks them instead. Roxas tries not to watch the slow, languid way the wet, rubicund muscle glides over Axel's pale lips. _

_Instead he throws the car into reverse harder than is really necessary and pulls into a drive way to turn around._

_At Roxas' place the lights are all out and the power is dead._

"_Well, steaming shit on a popsicle stick, if this don't suck," Axel mutters, thin lips twisting, teeth clamped tight together so as not to chatter, it was _cold_ without the heating working; it was late November after all. _

_Roxas just stares at him, despite the fact he can't see him properly in the dark, "That is such a vile image."_

_Axel shrugs, "Whatever. Fuck, it's dark in here." _

"_Keep your pants on, I'm looking for the damned candles, it's rather hard in the dark."_

_Axel's smirk is obvious, "I'm quite sure it is hard. But are you sure you want my pants on?" he teases, flicking a lighter lazily; illuminating the pantry where Roxas was sure they'd kept the candles._

"_Nothing would make me happier than to never see you without your pants. Here's the fucking candles." Something about this guy was really pissing the younger teen off. _

_Axel smirks again, he does that a lot, and lights two candles, passing one to Roxas, "Where to, El Capitan?"_

_The blond starsd at him, unable to fathom his thought process, if he even had one. In all honesty, Roxas was really regretting ever stopping for this bizarre red head, with eyes that were like ice and fire all at the same time, eyes that seemed to have habit of wandering down to his ass every time he turned his back to lead them to the kitchen. _

_Having caught him for the fifth time Roxas snapped, "Would you stop," he enunciates the point with a smack to the skinny redheads chest, "staring," smack, "at," smack, "my freaking ass!" smack-smack-smack-smack._

_Axel just smiles, "I love it when you hit me. Hit me harder, babe, please," he draws out the last syllable, fucking begging for it._

_Roxas lets out a yell of rage, and smacked his fist against the wall, "Are you always such a pushy-whore?" he snaps._

_Axel's smile widens, "You didn't seem to mind in the car."_

_The shorter teen wheels, furious, "Don't fucking talk about that, ever!"_

_The object of the blonde rage advances, backing said blonde into a wall, before grabbing the back of his head by the hair, pulling back and crushing his lips to the trapped boy's. The latter can't quite suppress a moan before he shoves harshly against the redhead's chest._

"_Jesus, can you keep your hands off me for more than five fucking minutes?!"_

_Axel just smiles._

* * *

_"I know it's not the right thing, and I know it's not the good thing... but kinda i want to."

* * *

_

**Cloud BGM: Superhero Girl-Eve 6**

I'm furious, just… furious. Well, maybe not furious so much as humiliated beyond belief. I have in fact reached the point where I just don't give a good golly gosh about anything, particularly concerning my dignity and self-respect (I mean hey, it's already shot to shit, right?). So when I run into Riku, who just smirks some more, Sora, who chipperly announces that Leon had relented and ungrounded him, and their friend Kairi (you remember her, she helped with the shopping) out in the hallway when I'm wearing just my freaking leather pants, I honestly don't care about what I may, or may not, be wearing.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask calmly.

Kairi's face turns red and her mouth is twitching like she's trying not to laugh and her blue-violet eyes are just locked on my chest, which honestly is a little annoying. And kind of surprising, since I'd always thought she was a lesbian. Bi, perhaps? Whatever.

Riku, who's always so damned collected, smiles and says, "So, you got the memo about shirts being out of fashion, then?"

"Yeah, and well, you know me; just have to be in style."

"You set a wonderful example for the rest of us; we try to live up to your noble example," Riku nods his head seriously and actually manages to keep a straight face.

Not to be out done, I put my hand over my heart and strike a heroic pose, "I try," I tell him sincerely, "I try."

Sora, who I've decided is not the antichrist, he is but a mere minion, a hellion, an imp, rolls his eyes, "You're just trying to show off for the girls."

I nod my acquiescence, "Yes. Like the one in your brother's bed."

Sora's eyes go wide, "Leon! You shameless slut!" he yells at the door I so hastily closed behind me.

Riku casts his boyfriend a side glance, "Hey So, why don't you follow Cloud's noble example and take off your top?"

"I will if Kairi will," the short brunette waggles his eyebrows suggestively. The red haired girl just half-smiles, rolls her eyes and crosses her arm over her chest.

I don't see what the problem is, it's not like she's really got much up there. No offense to her or anything.

"We're going to the movies, wanna come?" The invite comes from Riku, naturally. Sora blinks and looks a little surprised.

I open my mouth to say… something. I'm still not quite sure what, when the cell phone I manage to jam into the pocket of these pants goes off. "Uh, one sec," I excuse myself to the trio in the hall, "Hello?"

"Hey, Cloud. This is Aerith."

"Hey. What's up?"

"I'm having a gathering-thing at my house today, like at eight. Can you come?"

"Eh, sure. Should I bring Leon and Rinoa?"

"Rinoa? Is she there?"

"The last I saw her she was cuddling with Leon on his bed while they watched the Boondock Saints."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I know that was, like, your movie."

I shrug a shoulder, then realize she can't see it, "Yeah, well…" I let the sounds trail off.

The faintly distorted sympathy sound is pleasant in my ear, "You wanna come over now? We could watch a movie and eat ice cream and mope or something."

I chuckle faintly at the notion, "Sure, then we can braid each other's hair!"

Her phone must be super sensitive of something, because I can hear the stiff fabric of the blouses she likes to wear fold as she shrugs, "Just suggesting."

I sigh, it sounds like static on my cheap little phone, "No, it's cool. I'm just being an ass. Sounds like fun, really."

"So, you're coming then?"

"Sure, better than hanging around with her here."

"Awesome, see you soon."

When I get to Aerith's place, she's got brownies, and then I remember just why I love that crazy pothead. Yeah, Aerith does pot, why do you think she's so damned mellow all the time? Anyway, brownies. Like most sane people on this Earth, I'm a whore for chocolate. So when I walk into Aerith's kitchen and she pulls this pan of brownies out of the oven I feel like the world is a better place. Or maybe just a chocolatier one, then again, it's really the same thing.

"Run away with me, darling."

She shakes her head and laughs, I like the way her long ponytail looks like a pendulum when she does it. Sometimes, when I'm really relaxed and lying on her bedroom floor and she walks by I try to grab for it; which usually winds up in me looking absolutely retarded.

To no one's surprise, or at least not mine, we end up doing what we usually do; which consists of hanging around in her room and me stuffing my face while she spends an hour worrying over calorie counts and grams of fat and shit like that before eating anything. She does that a lot, worry about her figure. If I had dollar for every time she would spend ten minutes staring at her stomach in the mirror I could buy a house bigger than Leon's, which, if you've forgotten, is freaking huge. After obsessing over what she _can _eat she generally decides that she doesn't actually want to eat anything. And then we get high.

Yes, yes, I know, believe me, I know, that it's a bad habit. I know it kills brain cells and everything, but honestly it's not like we do heroine or methamphetamine or shit like that. And honestly, I don't even do it that often.

And then we watch Benny and Joon for the millionth time, because that's our movie like Boondock Saints is Leon's and mine.

And believe me it _is our_ movie. Seriously. Every, single freaking time I've seen that movie, Leon has been there. And the same for him. We even dressed up like Connor and Murphy for Halloween one year, of course, that was before we realized that trick-or-treating was kind of lame and our time was better spend partying. (Actually, I still go trick-or-treating, generally with Rikku, who drags Paine along, Leon just doesn't know.) It was _ours, _damn it, _ours._ And that bitch ruined it.

So we're sitting there on her raggedy-ass threadbare couch which is so squashy and soft it sucks you in that it takes, like, ten minutes to stand up. Her parents tried to throw it out once, Aerith went on a hunger strike until they relented.

Aerith's parents are your typical suburban-type parents. You know, middle class conservative, neatly trimmed green lawn, flower beds under the windows. Want nothing more but a perfect score at the local green and for their daughter to make the honor roll, grow up and marry some nice middle class conservative guy just like them.

Anyway, we're sitting there on her couch, comfortably settled in it's velvety, forest green embrace and she's singing along with the movie's theme song, I think it's The Proclaimer's, the one that goes like, "Well, I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door," or something like that, it doesn't really matter. The point is she was just sitting like she always does, singing along with that damned song every time it comes on (which is a lot), and that was when I realized that I love her.

Naturally, I lunge over and grab her by the waist and she squeaks 'cause I took her by surprise, and pull her on to my lap and whisper quietly in her ear, "I love you," and I love the way short little whips of brown hair sway when I say it. I can't see her smile, but I can see the way her cheek shifts as she does it. I lock my arms around her and don't let her move.

She doesn't mind much, or at least she doesn't protest, she just shifts a little until she's comfortable, which evidently entails curling up in my lap like a cat, and I just pet her hair, which is this really beautiful, shiny shade of brown; lighter than Leon's. Less chocolate, more coffee.

When the movie concludes with its sweet, corny, rot-your-teeth-out ending, we still have about an hour before the party guests are supposed to show up. Her parents are out of town for the weekend, and of course they trust their responsible, mature, hard-working honest only child to _not:_

Have a bunch of friend's over

Purchase several kegs, despite the fact that some of the guest might be under eighteen

Blow all of the "emergency" money on chips, aforementioned kegs, pizza and other assorted party supply type things

It's kind of too bad their faith is so ill-placed. All well, what they don't know can't hurt them, right?

Aerith, much to my chagrin, stands up after a brief battle with swamp-couch, then hauls my sorry ass up and standing as well, just for good measure.

"Aer-rith!" I whine, wanting to cuddle back up on that couch of hers

She tries to hide a yawn behind her hand and fails, "C'mon, we got to go setup."

"Set-up wha-at?" I'm being so whiney I really want to slap myself, if it works, it'll be well worth it.

She stares at me tiredly, green-eyes hooded like she wants to curl back up on the couch too, "Fine, stay here. But you better be ready to party your butt off later. You owe me, Strife." She gives the butt in question an affectionate little slap and trots off down the stairs.

I sigh happily as I drop back down onto the still-warm couch. Yup, definitely worth it.

* * *

Again, I know I'm redundant, I'm sorry it took so long to update. The good news being I did get ideas for other fics (oneshots) which I hope you might read and like (when i get to writing and posting them). 

I also apologize for my lack of skills in writing kissing/general smutlike scene, I'm working on it, honestly. It's just hard in first person, I'll probably switch to third for any lemons... anyway.

Review and make me a happy-happy panda? I'd love to know what you thought.


	6. Blue Monday

**Author's Tirade:  
**Yes, much to be said. First off, thank you for reviewing those of you who did, and same to those who faved or alerted, whatever. It makes me a happy-happy panda, and I mean that.

Second, about last chapter, OH DEAR GOD I'M SO SORRY!! I got really lazy and kinda didn't edit, heh. And then it was pointed out (by paintthesilence, who's amazing, go read her story now!) that i switched tenses in the flashback thing like ten times. So I went back and reread and wanted to cry at the awfulness. So I fixed that so it should be all better. And yeah, my beta (who did the first and most of second) did this one too. And honestly, you should all go praise her, because you have no idea the crap she puts up with from me, I manage to forget whole words and phrases and generally, should really remember to edit _prior_ to posting, heh.

Third, on the subject of updates. The original plan was every week, but that turned into two. But that won't turn into three, I swear... I hope.

Fourth, just a minor one, the er, "lyrics" Axel was "singing" are approximately halfway through "Jetzt" by Wumpscut (best band ever).

And yeah, usual **Disclaimers** apply, I own nothing.

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Lovesong-The Cure**

It was one of those days when the world was just gray. Gray sound, gray color, gray life. Just grey. It's not that I'm opposed to gray or anything, it's a swell color. My hair is blue-gray, I have a couple pieces of gray clothing. I like gray, I just don't like the whole world being gray. Which is why I have a tendency to spend gray days in my darkened room. I like the dark, it makes things gray. And if you make them that way, you don't have to know that they already were. Gray.

So there I was, lying on top of my bed listening to some of Trent Reznor's angstier creations via headphone, my consciousness happily drifting in nothingness, pathetic mortal shell cast aside, when a painfully loud and insistent knock on my door ("rapping at my chamber door") and snapped me back to reality like an elastic band. Feeling appropriately put-out at my sadly existent state of awareness, I rolled over and ignored it. The door opened anyway.

"Hey, Sexy! I was just-oh. Are you asleep?"

Demyx, of course. No one else calls me "Sexy" and escapes unscathed. I consider the options briefly.

"No-o," I admit mournfully, knowing full well if I said nothing he would merely bound over gleefully and poke me continuously until I awoke.

"Oh," he sounds disappointed at having lost the opportunity. I roll back over to stare at him. "Whatch'ya doin'?" he asks. The boy is just too damned cheerful, as he walks, no, _bounces_ over to my bed, then _hops_ on and sits cross-legged, _grinning_ at me.

I sigh and stare at him, happy people make me so depressed. "Listening to music," my voice is gratuitously dolorous, even to me. He considers for a second and nods and-hey, what?!

"Demyx, why are you straddling me?"

"To reach your stereo, silly," he beams innocently, reaching over to press play.

"Uh, why?"

""cause then we can _both_ listen."

"Are-are you staying then?" What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I keep stuttering? Oh, right. Maybe because he's on top of me! For those who do not know, it's a /tiny/ bit distracting. Yeah, just a tiny bit.

"Oh, right. I always forget to ask," the last bit seems to be directed at himself, as it's really more muttered then spoken. Ad interim to said mumbling he settles back on his hips, which are rather in the state of being on top my mine. Put simply, he's grinding me. But just a little. Well that's interesting. Shit.

"Well, see, I was wondering if I could like…" he trails off squirming,_fucking squirming_, on top of me. "I was wondering if I could like, sleep here tonight."

The rather questionable phrasing combined with his blasted _squirming_ throws my mind into a really, really deep gutter. And by throws, I actually mean shoved it deeper, because it had kind of been inhabiting said filthy, grimy, _squalid_ gutter since he'd poked his peroxide blond head in the door. But, since I'm the hero of this little narration, let's just make me sound like I'm not a total pervert, and say it was entirely in response to him. Mm-hmm, yes indeed-y!

"Er, what?" I'm so fucking articulate I deserve a fucking prize.

He twists around a little, driving me insane(-er), then sighs, reaches up and _caresses_ my neck; leaning over me without moving his hips, meaning he is, essentially, on top of me and I can feel his hot breath brushing over the skin of my neck as he speaks, "Let's just get these off, hmm?"

And honestly, for one second, I really thought he was going to rip our respective clothes off. He was talking about my headphones, the tease, which had been playing rather quietly this whole time. I was never one for blasting my brains out with loud music, in this I differ from the majority of the population. Whatever.

He lingers for a few seconds, lips inches from my neck. Then sits and scoots back at the same time, so he's sitting up and straddling the middle of my thighs. I'm not sure if the change is appreciated, or if I want to wail. "Well," he says with a dramatic little sigh, "Larxene, my sweet cousin, has been very… _trying_ since Namine left. She tends to vary between snarky, mopey and clingy; or some unholy combination of the above. It's really weird!"

His eyes get big when he's into what he's talking about, generally (read: 99.9 repeating ) music, and just as a rather disturbing side note, when he says "clingy" he actually means something along the lines of her making out with him, or something of the like; which is just so, so gross. Demyx has rather ambivalent feelings about the whole thing, I think generally negative, which might be why he always calls her _cousin_, to remind himself, or her, that they're practically family. Or maybe it's to remind himself because he doesn't mind, and in fact, likes it, but feels it's wrong. Either way, this is the reason, one of the many actually, why I do not simply grab him and do… whatever. Because he's used to it, and he's used to it being meaningless, but it wouldn't be, because I'm fucking in love with him. And just for the record, I'm not, strictly speaking supposed to know this. Demyx is rather quiet about the whole thing, really wouldn't you? But Larxene told Namine, as a, I don't know, guilt confession of something. And Namine said that it was okay, it wasn't like they were married or anything so Larxene and Demyx continue their… relations. Namine later came to me disturbed and depressed over the whole thing. She said she needed some one to talk to but obviously could go to neither Demyx nor Larxene.

Anyway, "I want to like, _document_ it you know. Like, à la Steve Irwin, _in memoriam_, or something." He nods enthusiastically, "It'd be cool." He concludes, "But anyway. I'm _totally_ sick of dealing with her and her damn bi-polarity, you know? And so I says to myself, not literally of course, why I don't go see my bestest buddy Sexy? Who, I haven't seen since we saw that weird indie flick at the movies last week. So, uh, yeah, can I stay?"

I say nothing just to torture him. And I watch his expression fall and fall and fall. He bites his lips as he fidgets and his eyes grow wider in a puppy-like supplication.

"Fine, fine. You can stay."

Demyx grins, "Awesome possum!" and rolls off me.

We lie in silence, not the awkward kind, it's nice, just, you know, silent; other than the music from the stereo. To which Demyx makes a little 'tch' sound when the song switches.

My head twists over so I can see him, and shoot him a questioning glance.

"Nine Inch Nails," he explains. Ah yes, one of his few flaws. His lack of worship for the wonderful band that is, Nine Inch Nails. Not that I'm actually _that_ much of fan. Partially because every album I got after Pretty Hate Machine (which I got first) just broke my heart. Because with everyone I would say to myself, generally not out loud, "Maybe this one will be as good." And you know what, they never were. Sure, some songs taken individually are pretty, er, sex, but on the whole, as albums, they're not so hot; because honestly, Pretty Hate Machine is amazing. Well, other than the fifth track, of which we do not speak.

"I don't care what you say, Trent Reznor is god."

"Hmph, I don't see why you like hi-"

"_You let me violate you."_

"Er,_Qué_?"

Oh. Shit.

"_You let me desecrate you."_

How did I forget this song was on here?

"_You let me penetrate you."_

"Ah," Demyx squeaks out, his face a funny shade of pink. "Er, Sexy, why do y-"

"_You let me complicate you."_

"-ou have this song?"

"Because it's good. I don't have to justi-"

"_Help me I've broke apart my insides, help me I've got no soul to sell."_

"-fy myself to you!" Crap. He is never going to let me forget this. This is like the Halloween when I was twelve and Larxene blackmailed me into dressing up like Little Bo Peep. Except with a lot less pink, well, other than Demyx's face.

"Do you have, like, a sex-song fetish or something?"

"_Help me, the only thing that works for me. Help me get away from myself."_

"No, I do not. You're the one with a music fetish."

"Do not!"

"_I want to fuck you like an animal."_

Oh. Dear. God.

Demyx's eyes are growing wider, and wider. How has he not heard this song before? I thought everyone in the English speaking world had? Weird.

"_I want to feel you from the inside."_

He's just laughing his ass off now; rolled over, face buried in my pillow, laughing his freaking ass off at… actually, I'm not sure what exactly was so hilarious about this. Oh look, now he's trying to talk. How cute!

"Y-y," he dissolves into laughter, "You (chortle) are such (snigger) a little (squeaky giggle type thing) pervert!" Or not. Cue raucous laughter on Demyx's part and indignation on mine.

"I am not!"

"Suuuuuuuuuure," he says dissolving into still more laughter, "'cause I'm so sure normal, non perverted people have that song."

"Well, it's not my fault if you're too _young_ to know it. We, _older_, teens know better." I've struck a nerve. He glares at me, sticks out his tongue, which I resist the urge to lick, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Demyx's age is rather a sore point to him. He's two years younger then the rest of us; Larxene, Namine and me. Under normal circumstances we probably would never have met; due to the age difference. Our high school tends not to meld the grades. If he wasn't Larxene's "cousin" we upperclassmen would never have deigned to notice him. It's things like that, that almost make you _kind of_ believe in fate. Not quite, just kind of.

As a point of interest, Larxene and I bonded in first grade; having spent her kindergarten years taking the milk money from me and this kid Kyle with bifocals and a lisp who kept talking about _mitosis_. Yes, he was talking about mitosis in kindergarten. I think he's graduated college and is a doctor somewhere in Germany by now. It doesn't really matter.

The point of this whole thing is that I was absolutely terrified of Larxene in kindergarten and a fraction of first grade; until the day I found her crying behind the gym because Mark kicked sand in her eyes. I offered her a cookie. We've been something like friends ever since.

Was there a point to that whole tangent? Oh, right. Demyx's age related inferiority complex. He shuts up after that. We lie on our backs, staring at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling listening to the CD, which, after Closer, was blissfully clean. The stars being a vestigial reminder of my astronomy phase, I had imitated selected constellations as best I could back in fifth grade. I never got up the energy to take them down.

It's nice actually, surprisingly nice; Demyx and I just lying there under a fake blanket of stars listening to songs _not_ about sex. I must have zoned out for a bit because when I came to the CD was back at Closer and Demyx had his eyes half-shut as he lay half-twisted up in my comforter, one socked foot tapping to the beat.

"Hey, Mikey, he likes it," I mutter, quoting that dumb Life cereal ad.

His smile broadens but his eyes don't open as he says, "You know, I never did get that ad."

"I don't think anyone did," I agree, even though to be honest it made perfect sense to me. Whatever.

"You know what else I never got?" he starts and continues without waiting for an answer, "Birthday suits."

I choke.

He smiles a little more, "I actually thought there was, like, a _suit_, you know? I thought it would be like a jumpsuit. A really loose one, like a clown would wear, and it'd be purple with all these big ass colored polka dots. And it would have a matching hat, right? It'd be pointed and stiff, with a little red pom-pom at the top. Like a moogle! Kupo!"

He's silent as I absorb this information and try to get the image of Demyx dressed like a marshmallowy moogle (kupo!) out of my head.

"And then, you know, I figured out it just meant naked. I've never been so disappointed in my life," he finishes with a sad shake of his head.

To my credit I tried not to laugh, I either just didn't try very hard or just plain failed. Either way I was soon laughing as hard as Demyx had been earlier. He doesn't mind though, he just smiles, like all he wants is to make me happy, or something like that.

The last few chuckles shake their way out of my spine as I lay face down on a pillow, face staring at my mohawked companion. He rolls over onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows, "Hey, Sexy. You want to go ride the subway?"

I consider it briefly, before nodding and following him off my bed, before having to go back to turn off the stereo.

It's dark outside but that's fine, we know the way. We take the ferry over to the mainland, and then walk to the nearest subway station, which is quite close. It's about ten o'clock so the subway has a bunch of people, but not so many that we can't find two seats side by side. This is a thing we do, Demyx and I. Just ride around on the subway for hours watching people, sleeping, taking an ear bud apiece from his sadly Nine Inch Nails free mp3 player. Not an iPod mind, he hates all things apple. He sucker-punched some kid who called it an iPod, we were all very surprised.

It's actually surprisingly nice, riding around on the subway. When the seats in the back cleared up we dashed quickly back and claimed them. Fear our lightning ninja reflexes! Not. Whatever.

We just ride around on the subway 'till the crackly loudspeaker voice announces, via loudspeaker, that the train will stop running for the night in a half an hour. Demyx, who had been resting, half-sleeping, with his head on my shoulder so every so often the tops of his hair-glued hair **(1)**would stab me in the neck, awakened with an unintelligible sound and blinked a bit.

"Qué?" Just in case you're wondering, Demyx takes Japanese. So why he always speaks Spanish, we will never know.

I yawn widely into my elbow, feeling my face stretch. "It's closing down for the night," I say, my voice thick from disuse.

He blinks blearily at his watch, "Er, Sexy, what time does the last ferry leave?"

"Around three I think."

"Huh. Shit."

"What time is it?"

"Three-fifteen."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You wanna get off here?" he asks as the car pulls to a stop.

I shrug dismissively but get off anyway, secretly relishing the way my duster swings behind me as I walk.

We try to find a hotel, it seems the logical solution, idea, thing. Whatever. But they are all closed, we don't know the area and it didn't occur to either of us to bring much in the way of money. In the planning area, I'd say we failed. On our wanderings, we notice this park that we just keep coming back to, it was pretty big apparently. The gate was locked (which I guess means it was closed), but we just hopped over the fence, with no more trouble then me having to lift my duster. I never did quite get the concept of_closing_ a park. It just never seemed like one of those things that couldn't really be closed.

Regardless, we entered and found a tree with a lot of grass under it. The park's benches were all metal and looked none to comfy.

"Mmm, how exactly is this going to work?" Demyx asks, twitching the middle of his lips back and forth like a rabbit. It's not the most attractive thing, but it's _Demyx_, so it's just fine.

"Pick a spot and lie down," I say simply, not really seeing where the confusion lies.

"It's cold, Sexy!" he's whining, I forgot how childish he is when he's tired.

I shrug off my duster and fling it at him, feeling slightly irritated at his behavior.

"But then you'll be cold."

I shrug, I'm tired, and honestly, I kind of want him to just shut up already, "It's fine, I don't feel the cold much."

He frowns a little, brows furrowing, studying the problem at hand, "Lie down," he tells me, voice so oddly authoritative that I obey before I really think about it.

He pulls his burn-your-eyes-out-viridian hoodie off and chucks it at my head, "Pillow," he grunts, before dropping down to lie sort of on top of me where I lie, torso propped up against the tree, legs stretched out before me. He squirms a little till we're both comfortable then pulls me coat over to cover us both.

"Is good?" he asks sleepily. I wish I could see his face, but the way he's laying back on my chest, legs beside mine, I can't see his face.

I mutter something that sounds like a yes, benignly not mentioning I had already thought of this arrangement but hadn't mentioned it, figuring he wouldn't like the "lie on top of me" bit (it was the only way we could both have pillows that I could see). And we drop off to sleep like that.

* * *

_"But if it wasn't for your misfortunes, I'd be a heavenlier person to day."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Boten Anna-Basshunter**

To start off, I think it's actually rather necessary to say that I am really not the partying type. I am, by nature, a generally solitary sort of creature, with the exception of a few special people. So really, it makes sense that I don't like parties. Mingling just is_not_ my forte, seriously. I'd rather do small things, you know, hanging out with a few people that I already know and like. Like Leon's parties, they're never that big, most of the time we all know each other, except for when some one brings a friend for us all to meet, like how Paine brought Rinoa (glare) and Axel brought Roxas, we never did figure out exactly how those two met… The point being, I really don't like parties.

Another excellent reason for me to hate parties is the matter of mingling, which yes I know, I already mentioned. Mingling is best done when drunk, or "jugged" if you will. As we have already seen, alcohol and I are not good friends; we are not even slightly friendly acquaintances. I would not hesitate to go as far as to say that alcohol and I hate each other with a burning passion like unto the Capulets and the Montagues, except, you know without that whole "star-crossed lovers" thing. So I can't mingle, 'cause I'm so damned sober, and honestly, I probably wouldn't even if I could have more than three drinks without pole-dancing, or doing a strip-tease or some other thing that I _definitely have not done_.

So I was wandering around Aerith's place, being, essentially bored out of my mind, noting the rather large group of people I didn't know, or really even want to, when I spotted someone I did, know, that is. The silver hair really gave him away. Feeling evil, misery _does_ love company after all; I sneak up behind him, soundlessly. Actually I just walked but the music and chatter, and _whatever_ was so loud you couldn't hear anyway so explain to me exactly how that matters.

Anyway, I walk up quietly behind him, and praying it really was him, say in a sketchy, older-man sort of voice, "You know, those clothes are very becoming on you. If I was on you, I'd be coming too." **(2)**

He chokes on whatever it was he was drinking, and turns around spluttering, "What the-Oh, Cloud. What the hell man?"

I shrug, listless, and make a noncommittal noise somewhere between a grunt and an onomatopoeia of a shrug, "So, where's your tumor?"

Riku blinks at me, his hair practically glowing in the dim light, "Tumor?"

"You know, Sora?"

He stares.

"Sorry, that was me trying to be funny. It won't happen again, I assure you." I hate parties, they make me babble.

Another blink, then a light laughing smile. "Eh, whatever man. So, you having a good time?" he sounds as bored and desperate as me. How sad we are, two grasping little losers feeling _so_ out of place.

I shrug, not really wanting to answer the question, "So, what are you doing here anyway? Aren't you, like, the youngest guy here?"

He looks a little sad, "Yeah, I know right. The once-seniors, ie, you people, seem to like me because I'm smart and attractive or something, you know, general popularity thing."

He doesn't brag when he says it, he just says it like a fact. Hell, the boy would be crazy to deny his blatant attractiveness. And he _is_ popular. There's no point in denying that either.

"Well, that's why you were invited. Why did you come?" Riku _never_ comes to these things, for all he knows more people than me; he feels more out of place; weird how life is like that.

He licks his lips and diverts his eyes and I know he was avoiding the question on purpose. I feel bad, a little, but not bad enough to retract the question, I'm curious now.

"Sora… Sora and I have been… I don't know. Can-can we not talk about it?"

Holy shit, Riku stuttered, tell the freaking press.

I shrug again; I seem to be doing that a lot in this conversation, so much ambiguity and uncertainty. "Yeah, sure. It's cool."

He nods, grasping for something that can be said. He looks at me suddenly, aquamarine eyes… desperate? "Do-do you want to get out of here?"

It's my turn to blink, he hastily tacks on, "Not-not like that just, you know. Get away, take a drive of something.

Assured that he was _not_ hitting on me, not that I really thought he was, I nod and say sure, and he leads me to his precious car, parked out on the street.

We drive in silence, listening to the quiet and some foreign language music from the stereo. I can almost feel the slightly awkward silence burgeoning between us. I know I want to ask about Sora, and I know he wants to tell me. But neither of us are brave enough to bring it up. We were languishing in front of a red light at an empty intersection when I break the silence with the words I know are required.

"So, what's up with you and Sora?"

He sighs, he was expecting the question, there's no way he couldn't be, "I-I honestly don't quite know. It's- I just don't know. He's either, expecting too much from me, or I'm taking it for granted, or… _something._ I just don't know, because I still… him, and I know he still… 's me. So, I don't know what it is; because I'm not taking him for granted and he's not demanding, well no more than he always was, so… I don't know. This is how we've always been, so I just have no freaking clue why it isn't working anymore. God, I wish I could stop saying that."

He looks so dispirited when he throws the car into gear as the light finally changes that I have to reach out and pat him awkwardly on the shoulder, so unused to being weighed down with other's emotions.

I mull over what he said as he drives, tapping his fingers on the wheel in rhythm with the saccharinely sad music playing softly from the speakers.

"I think," I say slowly, really not wanting to give advice, what if I screw up, "that that is the problem. You both are acting as you always have. Maybe, maybe you need something more."

He pauses, carefully maneuvering the car along some pointless path with no destination, so careful and so meaningless.

"Like what?" he says finally.

"I have no idea," I say, my insight for the week used up. We drive in silence, but the awkwardness is gone. We drive in silence, just listening.

"_Dominus Deus  
exaudi nos et misrere  
exaudi, Dominus_

_Dona nobis pacem  
et salva nos a hostibus  
Salva nos, Deus_

_Dominus exaudi nos  
Dominus misrere  
Dona nobis pacem  
Sanctus, Gloria_

_dona nobis pacem  
e dona eis requiem  
inter ovas locum  
voca me cum benedictis  
pie jesu domine, dona eis requiem  
dominus deus, Sanctus, Gloria" __**(3)**__**

* * *

**"But if it wasn't for your misfortunes, I'd be a heavenlier person to day."_

* * *

**(1)**Um, yeah. Hair-glue is a product used to spike your hair, it works way better than gel and spray. Just in case that wasn't clear.

**(2)**Massive, massive props to blondevil for telling me this one. She owns my soul anyway, but still, mad points.

**(3)**This is "Salva Nos" from the anime Noir(my friend's freaking_ obsessed_) and essentially the lyrics are like "Wah-wah-wah, god help us, wah-wah, we're so freaking miserable, oh god give us rest!" or something. I like the song but the religion aspect bugs me. It and an actual translation can be found at gendou (dot) com.

* * *

I feel like I'm adding way to many lyrics, I just can't help it. They're all so wonderful. And I in no way feel that those who listen to Closer are perverted, Demyx is just being stupid.

Divider is **Blue Monday**, which **Orgy** does a lovely cover of.

See the little button, you'll get a pot of gold if you click it and tell me what you thought. Preferably not in a fiery fashion of the flame nature.


	7. Buckshot

Aha, sorry, again, that this took so damned long. Mmms, yeah. Whatever.

At this point I feel it is necessary to say that the views, opinions, and commentary expressed by the following are in no way representative of the view, opinions, and commentaries of the author. Thank you very much.

To those who review, thank you, I'm sorry if I didn't reply to them, I was... distracted by life. To those who don't review, no hard feelings, but you totally should. Review.

No, I do not own Kingdom Hearts. Do you even have to ask. Nor am I making money off of this. This is the last disclaimer I'm going to do.

Oh yeah, this chapter is dedicated to Blondevil, 'cause well, I asked her in Chem if she'd like a chapter dedicated to her so yeah. She rocks and owns my soul, not actually but still. Woot. And she translated the sketch Spanish paragraph later that you will see in this chapter.

And this chapter is unbeta-ed 'cause I got impatient, so forgive my errors.

* * *

_You ever have a day where you wish someone would just shoot you in the face with one of those crappy old buckshot-guns, but just right so you don't die, it just hurts like all fuck. Yeah. It's one of those._

* * *

**Zexion**** BGM: Love Buzz-Nirvana**

I wish, I really wish, I could say that Demyx and I spent the perfect- whatever-the-hell-day-it-is morning curled up contentedly together under a tree in the park. But I can't, instead I was awakened by a simply lovely man kicking me in the side. Except it wasn't really kicking, it was really more him stepping on me then grinding his foot around and downward. Between this and Demyx's little grinding-straddle session yesterday, I can definitely say which kind I preferred. But that is really besides the point now isn't it? Or… maybe it isn't. Dun, dun, dun! … Oh, how I hate my brain in the morning.

I open my eyes and squint in the bright light so totally not filtered by the tree's evidently useless branches. The sight they met was, hmm, how do you say, less than pleasant? Translation: A fat ass in a tan police uniform with an ill-maintained toothbrush (read: Hitler) mustache and the kind of deeply stained teeth one can only acquire through years of careful application of coffee and sugary foods (read: Donuts) added to the total remiss of the utilization of the common toothbrush. Yes, this is what I want to wake up to every single morning of the rest of my life. Not.

Have I mentioned how much I really, loathe myself in the mornings?

I glare at the creature, its nameplate reads "Howard" and the little rank-badge things on the shoulders of his uniform denoted Constable (Please, for the love of god, do not ask me why I know how to read the rank-badge things. You really, really do not want for us to go there.) It stares back down at me, chewing a piece of gum-or maybe tobacco-, eyes invisible in the thick brown-yellow aviators no one with taste has worn since the sixties, actually, I'm pretty sure people with taste never wore those things. But that, again, is really besides the point.

"Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here?" It speaks in this annoyingly slow voice, dragging out the pauses between words in way it clearly thinks is taunting or degrading, but falls so very short.

I'm so, so tempted to respond, 'A fat-ass with bad teeth, a Napoleon-complex and an overbite.' But for once, my inability to speak coherently after having just been woken up is a blessing, go figure. Instead I just keep glaring, while wondering if I can really smell its BO or if I'm just insane.

"Cat got your tongue," it pauses for centuries, "fairy?" it clearly considers this last bit its ace-in-the-hole, or something, and it seems taken aback when I'm not completely destroyed at its so impeccably original insult.

"Yes, there is cat that lives in my mouth and he steals my tongue whenever I come into contact with complete morons so that I don't tell them what it think of them, which would in turn, destroy their tiny, infinitesimal brains. You are so astute, to realize that that cat has indeed, laid hold of my tongue. One must wonder what that would say about you, Howard?" Ah, yes. The great and powerful Phase Two of Morning Speech, one thankfully often skipped, the one where I say whatever the hell I'm thinking without realizing it. (Note: this stage is also reached while inebriated, see my "smother the world" rant back on the beach.)

I believe that 'Fuck' is the operative word to use in a situation like this.

He chews a few more times on whatever it is-a cud perhaps?- with great distinction, grinding out each individual chew with sickening enjoyment. I watch with repressed nausea as the saliva builds up by his bottom lip, threatening to spill over onto me. Eww.

"What did you say, boy?" Ah, its evolved from mocking my sexual orientation to my gender and relatively young age. Clap for Howard. Incase you're wondering, Demyx is still sleeping, on top of me. Gee, I wonder why he thinks I'm gay. Thanks, Dem, you're a sweetheart. Ah, never mind. Not your fault.

And now the grand question of the moment. Our options are, A: be a man (or an older teen) and tell him what you said. B: be a little chicken shit and tell him nothing, or make up something not insulting, and of course, the favored action of many, C: yell something along the lines of "Su madre se vendió como puta a una rana para escaparle cuando usted se arrastró de entre de sus piernas y su padre se mató cuando él miraba su cara. Entonces, no puedo hablarle. Cabrones." **(1)** or, "Désolé, mais je ne parle pas anglais parce que tu es trop affreux pour vivre" **(2)** or "Sie ekeln mich an und deswegen bin ich nicht imstande mit Ihnen zu sprechen. Versuchen sie es später noch einmal. " **(3)** Hmm, decision, decisions. Ladies and Gentlemen, I do believe the correct answer is A!

Is that your final answer?

Why yes, Regis, I do believe it is.

I clear my throat, Demyx sleeps on, "I said, 'Yes, there is cat that lives in my mou-" It kicks me, hard, in the side and I'm unable to finish my recitation, being far too busy trying to breath again. Minutiae like that can be so trying.

"That's enough, faggot, I heard you the first time."

"This really puts your mental capabilities into question. Why the fuck did you ask, fuck-tard, if you already knew the ans-" Goodbye, breathing, I'll miss you! There is a sign in my mind, it reads: You Are Now Entering Dumb-Ass Territory: Willkommen." One must wonder why my mental signs are partially in German? That being said, I am such a fucking dumb ass sometimes, as denoted by the flashing neon-sign.

"Why don't you and your little fuck-toy just get out of here now? The park is closed. Not that we'd let you stay here anyway, freaks." I'm thankful that he at least stopped speaking with that "intimidating" slowness at least. Thank God for small wonders, or some shit like that. I shake Demyx, because brawn was never my forte and I kind of liked having a side not totally purple with bruises, though honestly I think I should just kiss the chances of that goodbye for the moment.

Of course, Demyx, is not quick to wake, and he just snuggles his face into my chest and mutters something along the lines of "five more minutes" I shake him again, harder. I hate waking people up but it's far kinder then letting Howard do it. He yawns and twists to face me, happily missing the lovely sight of the creature with steel toed boots, fuck that hurt.

"Hey, Sexy," he croaks out in his "I just woke up and why the fuck am I awake anyway, not that I'm mad" voice.

I resist the urge to flinch at the name; this is really just what it needs to here; my stupid fucking pet name. Not that I'm intimidated or anything.

Oh screw it, yes I was. I have absolutely no fighting ability, and the creature had weight, steel toed boots, a gun and the ability to arrest me for "not cooperating with the law" or "obstructing justice" or whatever the fuck the crime was. And if I was stupid enough to attack him, there was always good old "assault of an officer," it wasn't cowardice, it was intelligence.

"C'mon, Dem, we have to go now." I say in a way I hope conveys gentleness (manly, friendly, non-lover-like gentleness of course) and urgency. Either I failed or Demyx was too somnolent to care. Probably the latter, either way he shifts his neck back to its more comfortable position of being on my chest, bring him face-to-calf with Howard the Lumbering-yet-steel-toed-which-is-so-not-cool.

Aforementioned mountain (in width if not height, he was rather short, not that I was really one to judge, being merely average (but Dem is shorter so I guess it's okay)) of barbarism makes a pig-like grunting noise of impatience and this time I see the leg lift and shift and such and roll onto my side so the kick lands squarely on my spine instead of it's target, the Fair Demyx. Yes, I, Sir Zexion didst saveth my fair… fellow Demyx, or some chivalric shit like that. Yeah, you know what I mean.

Demyx's eyes widen and his muscles tense in my arms as I jerk and grit my teeth in response to the pain. There are an abundance of nerves along the spine, it hurt.

"Al-alright," he nods hastily and scrabbles to his feet, giving me a hand up.

It misread the gesture, of course, and snorts again, in a need-I-say pig-like fashion, "Aw, how cute. The queers are holding hands!" He coos to an imaginary audience. Freak. Oh, wait a minute… whatever.

Demyx starts, and makes as if to go and hit him, he's rather sensitive on the subject as he's rather undecided… on the subject (because of course it's an insult to be gay) but I hold him back, which is rather easy as neither of us are really what you would call strong.

"Dem, drop it," I say scornfully. The scorn does the trick. Demyx is insecure and generally just wants to be liked, I feel a stab of guilt for playing on it, but it's for the greater good of him not getting bruises to match mine; although, we could start a new couples' trend. You know, if we were a couple, which we're not.

He stops straining immediately and falls in step beside me, holding my duster and his hoodie. These, he hands to me, to free up his hands to fish in his pockets for his mp3 player. He's not being antisocial, well, not exactly, it's just the best way to get him back in a good mood.

And sure enough after blasting his skull with whatever it is he was listening to he's walking with his usual bouncing half-skip gait and reaching for my hand to twine our fingers together. Well that's new.

I glance at him curiously as we walk in no direction but away, he grins at me, too forced and too cheerful, and I realize that he's just using physical contact as a way to temper my own temper. Ha. Ha. Ha. Not.

After a few more minutes he pulls off one ear bud and says, voice still forcedly cheerful, "Hey, you want to go to that diner we kept seeing? I think it's somewhere around here."

I shrug, which means yes. And we walk with purpose, for a while at least.

* * *

_You ever have a day where you wish someone would just shoot you in the face with one of those crappy old buckshot-guns, but just right so you don't die, it just hurts like all fuck. Yeah. It's one of those._

* * *

**Yuffie BGM: Ninja of the Night**

It's not exactly like I enjoy making my friends miserable. There are those who would say differently, but hey, they don't know me, so 'nyah-nyah-nyah' to them, and their respective mothers, too! Hmph.

Still, I guess, it's not exactly like Cloud is entirely unfounded in his belief, that I'm, you know, evil. There have been a few incidents, the hair-dye, the sharpie on his face when he slept, the time I tried to get him drunk so we could get tattoos but he ended up playing his saxophone outside the window of this old pedophiles window, which turned out to be just as amusing. The point is his opinion is unjust. He just takes things the wrong way you know? And honestly, when the cops chased him on foot for two hours because the old guy called the cops that wasn't my fault, I wanted to go to the tattoo parlor, but no! Just had to go and play the- I'm rambling aren't I? The big idea of this whole thing is that Cloud has some issues when it comes to reading situations.

In case you're wondering, Cloud is hammering on the door to one of Aerith's bathrooms, where I am currently hiding, and demanding that I yield the camera I'm clutching in my sweaty grasp. He says if I do, he'll let me go unharmed. See how he resorts to threats of physical violence? Clearly a bad judge of what to do. Oh, you don't know what I'm talking about do you? Hmm…

Yuffie had a plan. She supposed, that it was really, technically Aerith's plan, the taller girl had come up with the basis of it after all, but she'd backed out after she heard Yuffie put the finishing touches on her plot.

It was common knowledge, at least among the two, that Cloud and Leon should be together. They had been muttering for months about it, but had never really done something. Yuffie was fed up. She wanted to do something now. And it occurred to her, somewhere in her evil little brain, that a party was a good excuse for a lot of things. Parties had alcohol. Alcohol could always be blamed, even when it was not the root of the problem, it was such an easy scapegoat. And so, Aerith had a party, as she so often did, and it all seemed like it would be perfect. But then Cloud had gone and ruined it all by disappearing. Yuffie would have called him on his cell, but he wouldn't listen if she called him. He would listen to Aerith or Leon though. So she went to Aerith and persuaded, blackmail is such an ugly word, the reluctant girl to call Cloud.

The conversation had been brief, something about a couch and a word or two in Italian and Aerith shut the phone off with a satisfied smile on her face, having secured Cloud's promise to get his ass back to the party. Things had gotten tougher after that.

It all sounded so easy in Yuffie's mind, she hadn't counted on her friends being so damned stubborn. Her proposal was met with some ambiguity and some out right refusal, only a few had been interested.

"What the hell, Yuffie? No one's done that since like eight grade?" Cloud had said lazily from his spot against the wall.

"Uh, we might've played a little freshmen year," a voice muttered contrarily.

"Oh, come on!" Yuffie whined loudly, stomping her foot. "It's just one little game of Truth or Dare!"

Oh, yes. Truth or Dare, that ancient instrument of all that is evil. Truth be told, Yuffie was in fact rather ashamed of having to resort to such base means, but this was rather a spur of the moment plan and it was the best she could think of. And really, she wouldn't be forced to resort to this if those two were less dense. But they were, and so they had brought it upon themselves. At least, to Yuffie's way of thinking.

After much griping and whining, and a good bit of blackmail and bribery she got them to play. Well, at least the two she wanted, and several handfuls of others just to fill it out and make things interesting, it didn't really matter what happened after the initial phase. So she got them to settle their asses down on the floor in a circle, it was after all the traditional way to play. After that, it was ludicrously easy.

"Well, clearly I should start," she announced cheerfully, thrilled that her plan was proceeding with out too much trouble. There wasn't much dissent, if any, and if there was, it remained limited to silent eye-rolling. And now, she thought to herself, it begins.

She pretended to think for a bit, then finally, "Cloud! Truth, or dare?" Honestly there was no way this could go wrong, Cloud was far too secretive (though really, what did he have to hide) to ever choose truth. And so no matter how nefarious or humiliating a dare might be, it was still preferable to the truth.

"Dare," he said. Yuffie bit back a demonic grin, didn't want him too freaked out, yet. She knew exactly what she wanted. Still, for the sake of appearances, she fidgeted and bit her lip and stared at the boring, white ceiling for inspiration. May as well make it look real.

"Okay," she said slowly, making it look as though she was still pondering the possibilities, unsure, as if she hadn't known exactly what she would say in this moment. She unleashed the grin, Cloud flinched. He knew it meant bad things, "Kiss Leon."

It would be hard to say who seemed more repulsed Cloud, or Leon.

Cloud gawped like a fish for a second, before saying hastily, "C'mon, Yuffie. That's so lame! And totally weird, c'mon!"

"What? That's gross! No way am I participating in this!" Leon added almost simultaneously.

Leon looked pale and… terrified. Cloud just looked mildly freaked.

Yuffie rolled her eyes, forcing back a happy squeal, "What are you, five? Fine, since I'm so wonderful, I'll give you a choice." It was all going so well.

Cloud rolled his eyes, and muttered something inaudible to Yuffie, but not to Leon, who, conveniently, was sitting next to him. Whatever the blonde said, Leon nodded in agreement.

"You can kiss him, or," she drew it out, loving the suspense, "You can go around naked but for you underwear for two hours." Yuffie beamed evilly. Everyone knew Cloud had modesty issues. There was no way he couldn't choose it.

He blanched, and cast Leon a pleading glance. Leon fidgeted, and squirmed, and finally he agreed. Friendship, is clearly stronger than homophobia.

"J-just a peck, right?" he asks finally, it sounds like he's begging.

Yuffie shook her head, grin growing wider still, "Nuh-uh, it has to be a real kiss." She'd reverted to a naïve eighth grader, and was loving this.

"Just for the record, Yuffie, we will get you for this. And we assure you, it will be long, and slow, and so painful you'd prefer to take your own life," Leon said, voice icy. Cloud nodded in agreement. Silly Cloud, doesn't he know she's doing this for him?

Leon fidgeted one last time, then, with the air of a man putting his neck on the chopping block, turned to face Cloud. Cloud, for his part, looked relatively composed as he shifted one hand to cup the side of Leon's face, he licked his lips awkwardly, hesitates for a lengthy second, then closes the distance between them with a the determination of a general going to war. Another put-to-use-for-evil-purposes thing about Cloud was this, he tried. Not for everything mind, but if given a task, and he accepted, he would damn well see it done, and done well, even if he lost a few limbs in the process.

So when Cloud closed his eyes and kissed Leon, he kissed him like he meant it. Leon knew this, everyone knew this, it was such an obvious excuse no one would question it. However, there might be some muttering as to why Leon, didn't really seem to mind too much. The way his eyes fluttered shut, though that could be blamed on not wanting to see his best male friends face looming so close to his, who knows, maybe it was easier to pretend it was a girl, after all lips were lips and who could really tell when you're eyes were closed?

They pulled apart with mutual relief when Yuffie squealed delightedly and clapped her hands, like a four year old seeing her first magician. The next few hours passed without much notable incident, other than a rather strong increase in Leon's alcohol intake. And after having imbibed rather a great deal more than can really be considered healthy for the average liver Leon headed out onto the balcony because the lights were talking to him, and that seemed like a bad sign. But then again, he wasn't really sure, he wasn't sure of anything at the moment, he concluded as he stumbled across the red-stained wooden boards.

Cloud just so happened to be passing by, "Hey, man, you okay?"

Leon blinked blearily at him, "Y-yeah, man. I'm cool. I'm super-cool. Are you? Are you super-cool or are you hot? And if you're hot, are you red-hot? Oh, fuck, I am drunk. Drunk like a… like a… like a… like a really, really fucking drunk person. Like… like me! Fuck man, I'm drunk like me! Haha, oh shit, that don't make no sense. Shit.."

Cloud blinked, "You don't seem to good."

Leon waved his hand in the air and nearly tipped over "I'm cool, man, honestly."

Cloud nodded uncertainly, "Leon, you really don't look to good. I'm serious here."

"And now see, Cloudy-cloud, that is what makes you such an awesome friend. Have I ever told you that, that you are an awesome, awesome friend?" Leon stared earnestly at him, well, as earnest as one could be when one is completely and utterly shit-faced drunk.

Cloud suddenly, had a very desire to leave, but he didn't because Leon was his friend, and it was entirely possible that he would tip over the railing and die. So, he stayed. "No, no I don't think you have."

Leon tried to walk at this point, having, prior to that moment, been leaning safetly against the railing in question. Walking, it turned out, was not such a good idea. He stumbled, onto Cloud, as it would happen, and knocked them both over onto en elongated deck chair, at which point he promptly passed out.

So really, who could blame Yuffie when she woke up the next morning and, after having removed the coconut-bra from about her head and the donkey's tail from the back of her shorts, when she found the two friends sleeping in such a compromising position, from taking a picture or two?

Aerith, that traitorous wench, must have given Cloud a key; as he managed to get in without breaking the door down. Which is a damn shame, it would've been so fun to see Aerith's face. The whore, Cloud, also wrested the camera from my ninja like grip. Damn him. Damn him to heck!

After disposing of the camera, Cloud comes into the kitchen, where Aerith and I had been casually making breakfast. Well, she was making, I was eating. Cloud glares at me for a second or two, then sits down and grabs food. About then Leon staggers in, clutching his, "Oh, fuck what happened? I can't remember anything past getting here."

* * *

_You ever have a day where you wish someone would just shoot you in the face with one of those crappy old buckshot-guns, but just right so you don't die, it just hurts like all fuck. Yeah. It's one of those._

* * *

**Naminé BGM: Rape Me-Nirvana**

Generally, one would think, that if it was arranged for you to come visit people, they would like, oh I don't know, come pick you up at the airport? I'm not being overly demanding in this, am I? I mean, just common courtesy, right? Well, evidently, this thought never occurred to my darling Aunt and Uncle; who, for the record, I haven't seen in approximately five years, and therefore remember nothing about them. And now, I get to spend two months at their house in Radiant Garden, which is, according to another note from my eternally absent father-figure, a subdivision of Hollow Bastion, one of the biggest, most populous and lucrative cities on the planet. It also has a fabulous shopping section. It does not however, have a Zexion, a Demyx, a Larxene, a Marluxia or, a beach.

In essence, I'm stranded in some aborted fetus of some dirty stinking city; far, far away from the sunny blue skies and crystal clear waters of Destiny Islands. Gee. I'm thrilled. This is all I ever could have wanted. And, just to make this fabulous package better, no one came to pick me up. I waited around at the airport for a bit, but well, after third hour of waiting I had finished my book was so fucking sick of airport workers coming up to ask me if I was sure I was alright. DO I BLOODY LOOK ALRIGHT???

Ahem, so I left. And now, I'm even more lost than I was before and my arms are killing me from dragging my heavy luggage around, I never did learn how to pack light. Woops.

Exhausted, I spy a sign for a Chocolaterie/Patisserie thing, and well, it sounds pretty good, 'cause because honestly at this point, dried rats feet might sound good… eww. I so take that back.

So, I go in to the shop and it's this real cute little bakery type thing, and order something fruity and good, in theory, in what just might be, the best butchering of the French language of all time. I'm so proud. Mister Snooty French Man's lip twitches at my attempt. Well you know, what man, you can just take your little "ez"s that sound like "ay"s and your "er"s that sound like "ay"s too, except for when they don't, because sometimes they sound like "air" and just shove it up your âne(4)! Okay?

Swallowing back my righteous rage, I fake a smile and lean over the counter a little in what definitely is not an overt exhibition of a little cleavage, I swear, and say, in my most charming voice, "So, do you have any idea where-" I pause to take out the secondary note left by Uncle, "142 Emerald Court is?" Too be fair I had figured it would be a no-go, but no harm in asking, right?

Mr. French Man frowns his little French eyebrows, which are better waxed and maintained then mine, and says, in his little French accent, "Emerald Court? That is… that sounds like it is in Radiant Garden, no?"

This was evidently directed at the chef in kitchen, who yelled in something in French, filled with the "zh"s and "oo" and sounds that aren't quite like anything found in English that were my downfall in Junior year. Curse them. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Whatever the slurry-crap he said, Mr. French Man understood it. "Yes. It's Radiant Garden."

I blink, "You mean I'm not in Radiant Garden?"

He laughs, do I detect evil mockery, "No. You are in Traverse Town."

Traverse Town, where the fuck is that?

I nod, pay for my food and leave, feeling, rather distinctly shell-shocked. I stand on the sidewalk about a block down, I didn't want him to see my distress, and quell the urge to yell really, really loudly. Instead I sit down against a grimy brick wall and eat my pastry. That, at least, is good. Mild and clean, not overly sweet with slightly sour undertones.

I hate cities. I hate the gum and cigarette butts and bird shit on the sidewalk around me. I hate the towering skyscrapers that block the sun. I hate the crush of rude, shoving people and continuously rushing cars on the five-lane roads. I hate the smell it's all yesterday's Chinese-food, and sweat and concrete. I hate it!

I glare at the traffic as I suck the last of the pastry off my fingers, yes I am a dumb island girl, yes, I suck at French, and you know what I don't care! I am just going to sit here on your grimy-ass streets and lick my fingers clean as I glare at your over-congested streets filled with ugly cars and taxis a hideous shade of green. Taxis… oh fuck I'm a dumb-ass!

After watching some business man type guy do it, I figure out how it's done and try it out. The cab smells worse than the streets.

"Where to?"

I sigh and lean back against the sticky polyester seats, "142 Emerald Court."

A pause, "And where the fuck is that?"

Fuck, just kill me now. "Radiant Garden."

"Do you know how much that is gonna cost?"

"Look, I have money, just fucking drive!"

"Do you have a little over four hundred dollars?"

I blink, say what? "How much did you say?"

"You heard me, do you got it, or not?"

"That's fucking extortion!"

"Look, lady, the rates are the rates. I don't set 'em. You got the money or not?"

"Yes, I do, now will you please just go!"

Shaking his head and muttering something about stupid tourists he drives off.

"How long will this take?"

"A couple hours, depending on traffic."

"Fuck, how long does the train take?"

He chuckles thickly, "Silly girl. Train don't go there. It'll take you to the edge of 'low Bastion, but that's it. Them rich bastards don't like us Traverse folk getting into their fucking city."

He drives some more, I stare in misery at the mass of geometric gray misery that is the modern city out the window, pining for the islands so fucking badly I'm almost tempted to try clicking my heels three times. Like that'd work.

"Where you from, girl?"

"Destiny Islands," I say miserably, half-hoping the words will take me home.

He nods, "Why the hell you here, then?"

"That is a very good question."

He nods again.

The cab driver, whose name is Lupe, he has four kids, the oldest is away at University and never calls, helps me unload my bags on the noticeably cleaner streets of Radiant Garden. He couldn't take me all the way to Emerald Court, technically, the money ran out about an hour ago in 'low Bastion, but he took pity on me and drove me down to the Garden. He can't take me any farther, he says, he doesn't know the way and the boss'll be pissed enough already. He hugs me, awkwardly, he smells like body odor, and wishes me luck before driving away and leaving me moneyless on the streets of the Garden. For some reason, it feels like my situation has actually managed to get worse. Although, it still seems like it was the only course I could have taken. I couldn't have called, I don't know the number, and the train is expensive enough that the cab I would inevitably have to take would suck the money out of me before we'd get to the Garden. So fuck, just fuck.

I shove my hair out of my face, take a steadying breath, and grab my luggage; setting out to walk to Emerald Court, if I have to. Currently, I just want to sleep. Jet lag and stress are killing me. I walk to a nice looking little book shop and talk to the proprietor. He gives me a list of very long and complicated directions, take Rhapsody Drive, not Road, which he eventually consents to write down.

After that, I walk for about ten minutes, dazzled by the cleanness in retrospect to Traverse's filth. I was carefully avoiding another French-looking bakery when a voice yelled my name questioningly.

* * *

_You ever have a day where you wish someone would just shoot you in the face with one of those crappy old buckshot-guns, but just right so you don't die, it just hurts like all fuck. Yeah. It's one of those._

* * *

**(1)** (Massive props to the ever wondrous Blondevil (by which I mean, I asked for her to translate this, she did, then accidentally sent it to her Spanish teacher) for this one) This should mean: Your mother sold herself as a whore to a frog to escape you when you slithered out from between her legs and your father killed himself when he looked at your face. As such, I cannot speak to you. Bastard.

**(2) **This one I actually know, it means "Sorry, but I don't speak English because you're too hideous to live." This is what I use my "quality high school education" on. If we are the future, I hope I don't live to see it. That being said, fear my doubted, yet apparently accurate (thanks to the splendiferous BoyOrgy for re-affirmation), French-skills

**(3)** Many, many thanks to hapaxlegmenon for this part. This means something like, "Consequently you disgust me and I am not capable of speaking with you. Try again later."

**(4)** This is French for donkey, incidentally also what you get when you type "ass" into most internet translators. The actual way to say "ass" like she means it is "cul" as in "cul-de-sac," literally "ass of sack." And you thought fanfiction would never teach you anything.

* * *

I can't believe I wrote in Truth or Dare. I think I just kissed what was left of my dignity good-bye at that part. I mean really, it was pretty high on my list of things that I'll never write. It's important for later-on-ness though, so whatever.

Oh yeah, and just because I feel like being redundant, I have nothing against the French language or people, that was just N being bitter, and yes, I am too lazy to write out her full name. Except that took long to say so what the hell.

Sorry, people, it's four-thirty in the morning and my brain is fried, deep-fried.

So review, it's what the cool kids are doing (especially if you have this on your alerts or faves, por favor).


	8. Frozen

First off the number or **reviews made me happy**, I'm pretty sure I started **dancing**, badly.

And, I'm as always, **sorry it took so damned long**. To those of you who are irritated by my slowness, be glad it's writing and not drawing, because my artistic muse is even bitchier.

And this is **beta-d** (thank god), so snaps for **blondevil**.

* * *

_"Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me, synthetic ecstasy… when my mind is frozen."_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: We're Going To Be Friends-The White Stripes**

The rooms, yes rooms, I got a _suite_ of rooms(actually it's just a rather large bedroom and bathroom, but the bathroom is as big as my bedroom back home (almost) and the bedroom has a wall that sort of divides it in half, so the bed half is semi-private and separated from the entry part), Leon gave me are rather nice. Leon is, I'm told, the best friend of Cloud, who is, I'm told, my cousin. Honestly I'm taking an awful lot on faith here, and, rather sensibly on my part, am still not entirely convinced that I haven't been kidnapped by some evil cult, or something, do people still do ritualistic sacrifice of virgins? Er, humans? My head is metaphorically spinning. One moment, I'm walking down the streets of some, if rather clean, weird-ass city, and then some blonde guy

_A relatively short blond male with hair that looks like it got gang-banged viciously by a flat-iron, some hair glue and maybe a welding torch or two comes running across the street toward me. The urge to inch back cautiously as he approaches is overwhelming, hair like that can _kill_ people. I'm serious_

who claims to be my cousin is introducing me to his bizarre cluster of friends. Including Leon, a tallish guy

"_Um, that one, in all the leather with the hair, that's Leon. Wave Leon!" 'Leon' does not wave, he does give a glare and an eye twitch though. "Don't mind him; he just doesn't do hangovers well."_

who seems to have a serious leather fetish, it's _summer_(summer equals sun, sun equals hot, hot equals why the fuck are you wearing black leather, you masochist?), and then Cloud says he's living with Mr. Leather and that he _guesses_ that's probably where I'll stay 'cause things at his place are, I'm told, "not that great", whatever that means. And a bunch of other people, all of whom seem to be rather ridiculously attractive, what is it with this place? And unless I was even more disoriented than I thought, I think they were all gay. Every single one of them, well the guys at least, with the probable-possible?-exception of Leon. Mostly, they were pretty good at hiding it. Well, except for the red haired guy who liked he got styling tips from a porcupine, he was pretty damned obvious in his staring at the other relatively short blonde male with hair that looked like it had been styled in a manner similar to Cloud's, yeah, that guy who kept _staring_ at me. Who, despite the whole staring at me thing, and believe me it was _that_ kind of staring, also seemed to be pretty gosh darn gay. And Cloud, well, that goes without saying. I detected the vestigial traces of eyeliner round his eyes. The only straight guy I know who wears eyeliner is Marly, who's disturbingly concerned with his appearance (and getting into Zexy's pants, but that's another story), Cloud, it was obvious by the hideous state of his shirt, is not. Which leads me to two conclusions, the first being it happened while he was sleeping (same with his hair styling, I don't think it's physically _possible_, must get Zexy to check mathematical probability) or he was gay. Option one just seemed kind of weird, hence, we have gay.

The only one whose sexuality was at all confusing, was Leon. Who seemed straight. Particularly from the way he had his girlfriend wrapped around him and didn't seem to mind in the least. So he might have been the only straight one in the lot, definitely the only straight one in his family. Are there rules about requisite heteros? If so, I didn't get the memo. I wonder if Marly counts…

The short, juvenile brunette with hair styled like Roxas and Cloud, eyes like Roxas, who was introduced as Leon's little brother was certainly as straight as a corkscrew. I think his name was like Sara or something, definitely girly, with a name like that it might be hard not to be gay.

Well, you know, not at all actually but whatever.

But back to the present, I gawp around me for a bit; awed by the coordination of the décor. The colors all compliment each other, not a speck of dust on any surface, I know nothing of feng shui, but I'm sure if I did know it, this place would be designed for good energy, or whatever that stuff is supposed to do.

My bags are deposited in the corner of the room by the bed, and I made the bed as neatly as I could when I awoke this morning, after having slept for over twelve hours, and I made good use of the pristine bathroom with the sunken bathtub and the large shower with twelve different spray modes on the showerhead (the fourth and seventh were my favorites). I don't want to stay here, more than I already have, and ruin the perfection with my presence; ratty blue cut-offs and gray wife beater. I shut the door quietly behind me, leaving it captured in its perfection like a butterfly pinned to corkboard.

I don't know what there is to do at this hour, my usual sleep schedule being effectively ruined by jet lag, but I walk off down the corridor in a direction I _think_ the kitchen might be. On the way there (or at least I think it was) I bump into a girl I dimly recognize from yesterday's introduction orgy. She certainly seems to recognize me.

"Hey," she smiles sweetly, "feeling less jet-lagged?"

I nod, wondering if she can show me where the kitchen is, it occurs to me I haven't eaten since before the little French café in Traverse, "Yeah, I slept for what felt like years. Do you know where the kitchen is?"

She nods and her perfect black-or is it dark brown-hair ripples and shines in the nonexistent light, how does that work? "Yeah, but if you're hungry the knowledge won't do you any good. There's nothing there that doesn't have to be cooked before you can eat it."

I wince, "Well, that certainly doesn't do me any good then. I can't cook for my life." I grin easily, I'd forgotten how easy this was, talking to people you don't know. Dem and crew have pretty much monopolized my life of late.

She grins, her teeth are, unsurprisingly, perfectly white, "Don't worry about it, none of us can really. Well, except for Cloud and Aerith."

I nod, committing the knowledge to memory for the next time I get hungry. "Aerith… pretty, long brown hair?"

The girl, I wish I could remember her name, smiles and nods again, "Not to mention hopelessly in love with your cousin."

My smile widens, "I was wondering if that was just me. Don't think he realizes though, bit sad for her really."

She shrugs, tosses her head carelessly, dark hair ripples again, "Oh, he'll come around eventually I suppose."

I'm about to blurt out that Cloud is most likely gay when it occurs to me he might not be out of yon olde proverbial closet, so I shrug and say I suppose, all the while wondering what's a polite way to ask for her name. She looks so damned familiar; I just wish I could remember her name.

"Hey, you know, if you're hungry. We could go to this cute little Mexican place I know. I was about to head out to eat anyway."

"Sure, um, god this is gonna sound awful, but, um, what's your name?" I squeak out the last bit in a rush, hoping she won't be offended. God I feel awful, how could I not remember her name?

She opens her mouth; then closes it. I wince in preparation for the ensuing onslaught of reprimands. Instead, she starts to laugh.

Still fighting back a grin, she proffers a hand and says, "Wow, I feel like such a dumb ass. I'm Rinoa."

I grin back, relieved she didn't yell at me, and take the offered hand.

"So, what's it like living on an island?" Rinoa asks.

I shrug, "Eh, you know, about the same as here essentially. Not like Traverse Town. The Islands are cleaner, the sky's prettier, you can actually see the sky for one. And pretty much no one drives because you can just walk everywhere. I don't really pay much attention to it. Mostly, I'm pretty focused on my friends."

"What are they like?"

"… interesting I guess. Well, first there's Zexion." Rinoa chokes, "Yeah, I know. Great name, right? I think his mum was kind of whacked out on painkillers when she named him. He's… smart, real smart; the bitter kind of smart that makes you an apathetic pessimist; wasn't smart enough to stop himself from falling for Dem, though. Which I suppose isn't really so bad. He's just… well, either he's the world's biggest tease ever or he's completely oblivious, I'm not entirely sure which."

Rinoa snorts in a lady-like fashion into her taco salad.

"So, tell me about you and horde of people I'm doomed to live with for two months."

She shrugs, uncomfortable, "I'm really not the best person to ask. You should try Cloud. I just met them all, with the exception of Paine and Rikku, at the start of semester."

"Did you move?"

"Mmm, yeah, but I was away from college at the time. Where I met Paine who's a year above me, but we got to be friends, 'cause well, she's really funny, and then she introduced me to Rikku, her girlfriend, and when I got the news my parents were moving here she told me it was cool 'cause she and Rik lived here, too."

The words "her girlfriend" are rather comforting, with all the other homo's here being in the closet (even if not very well) it's nice to know they aren't homophobes. Not that I'm planning on telling them, just in case it comes up. "Do I know Paine? The name isn't familiar."

"No, she couldn't make it that day, when Cloud saw you. Really lucky that he did by the way, it could've really sucked if we hadn't been there. Um, anyway, no Paine is… a bit like Leon actually. They're both quiet and wear a lot of leather. Um, she's really sarcastic, doesn't talk too much, 'specially not about her self, has that wry kind of humor you know; all apathetic and biting. She's great though. And Rikku, god, she's like the polar opposite, cheerful and blonde and… well, _bubbly._"

I nod, absorbing it, and wondering just how much and what kind of leather Paine likes to wear. It doesn't really matter since she's taken anyway. It's not like Larxene would care, we're hardly monogamous.

"And then Leon… he's pretty quiet. I think he talks the most to Cloud. But he's … sweet, in a cold sort of way. And he comes off as a total asshole sometimes, and frankly he can be, but overall he's pretty great. He just takes a while to start trusting you, Paine says it's surprising we're as close as we are, which isn't really that close considering, but whatever. And just between you and me, he's an amazing kisser," she adds this last bit in a loud confidential whisper, I can't help but grin.

Smiling sadly, and really missing my friends, "Sounds like fun."

She shrugs and her smile dies just the littlest bit, "Mmm, Cloud and Aerith don't like me too much; which is kinda weird because Aerith likes _everyone_. She's one of those girls you really want to hate, but you can't quite because she's just too damned nice, you know? And of course, she's practically perfect, good grades, really pretty, practically anorexic so she's got a great body, not that I'm looking, but, as I said, she's too nice to actually dislike, which just makes you worse," She stabbed the lettuce in her salad bitterly.

A sympathetic smile makes its way onto my lips, "She probably just needs time to get to know you, they seems like they've all known each other for forever, you know. And to be fair, you kinda seem like one of those girls you really want to hate, too. You know, pretty, smart and nice or whatever."

Her hands pause in mutilating the taco shell, with a careful slowness, "Are you hitting on me, Naminé?"

My face heats as I realize that it did sound rather like I was, I open my mouth but she continues speaking.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, you know, lesbians. God knows I love Paine, but it's just, well, I'm with Leon, and I don't really swing that way."

"Uh, I-I wasn't hitting on you. Sorry if that came out wrong."

"Oh," her face colors, and she hides her face in her shoulder, biting her full lower lip, before putting a hand to her forehead and blushing a bit more, "I'm so sorry. God, I sure am good at making an ass of myself, eh?" The smile and the joke are rueful and forced. A knife of guilt makes its way into my back and twists.

"I'm sorry. What I said _did_ sound sketchy."

She shrugs, good humor returning, "And anyway, I'm far more open about my flaws, believe me," there's an underlying guilt-ridden bitterness to her words and I wonder just what flaws Rinoa is so bad at hiding, or maybe so good at showing. Her blunt honesty reminds me of Larxene and my heart constricts painfully in my ribs, I miss home!

"You okay?" she asks quietly, clearly concerned.

I fake a smile, I don't know why, "Ah, I'm fine, I'm just homesick."

She smiles comfortingly and gives me her condolences, then her face brightens, "Hey, I just got an awful to the point of wondrous-ness idea."

Her grin is infectious, but I can't help but frown in nervous anticipation, "Do tell?" I'm unsure if this should be one of those things I just should ask about, like why Zexion styles his hair the way he does. (When I asked he just stared at me for about ten hours, not saying anything, we were in a double-lab so I couldn't get away because our tight-ass teacher didn't allow for bathroom breaks.)

She raises an eyebrow in a rapid fire twitch, leaning in conspiratorially, crooked (but still disturbingly wholesome) grin spreading across her face, "Are you ready for this?"

The knot of dread twists in my stomach and my appetite, such as it is, disappears, "Ready as I'll ever be," I mutter, using Demyx's hey-I'm-about-to-do-something-stupid-but-it-could-be-fun-so-who-really-cares trademark grin, burned into my brain from when he volunteered to test out Larxene's home-made parachute.

"You sure?" She has to be teasing, right? "I mean, this is a really_bad_ idea, like, way, totally, fully, massively and in all other words_thoroughly_ lame."

Lame? I wonder if it's too late to ask if in Traverse-slang lame can be used about cases involving explosives, home-tattooing (for love of god do not ask!) or mass genocide. 'Cause if it doesn't this chick doesn't have a clue about bad ideas. I'm maintain that unless you've been party to one of Demyx's 'Let's Take a Trebuchet, Crude Napalm (courtesy of a highly unwilling Zexion), Make Molotov Cocktails**(1)** With It and See What We Can Do!' plans, you don't know the meaning of bad plans. Because that was the one of the dumbest things we ever did, luckily, his aim was off (Zexion refused to do the trajectory calculations) and he hit the abandoned warehouse and not his target (a fur clothing factory-thing) on the first hit, and we ran for it after that so there weren't any second chances. But back to Rinoa…

"We could throw some sort of tropical-themed beach-type party at Leon's pool. Wow, that is pretty lame, isn't it?"

I take a second, and realize her idea isn't so bad after all, "Or, we keep the piña coladas and the pool. And then we cancel out the mere thought of calypso music. _And_ should there be enough alcohol, hula skirts on the guys, maybe even coconut bras if we feel sadistic." I grin evilly.

She smiles, "Brilliant. Now I just need to ask Leon…"

* * *

_"Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me, synthetic ecstasy… when my mind is frozen."_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Hush-Tool**

Two in the afternoon, or close enough that I don't give a fuck, Roxas' bed; Always, always Roxas' bed. This time, sadly, it is lacking the Roxas. That one, is working at the computer, typing, typing, typing, then he'll stop and stare at the ceiling, or change the current song on his play list, and then he'll type again; type like his fingers blur. Type like his life depends on it, or something. I'm not a poet, I'm not a poet, the only thing I am, other than a pyromaniac and maybe sometimes a tiny bit of an alcoholic, is addicted to Roxas. That damned school of his, they loaded him up with ridiculous amounts of summer work, he gets most of it done while I'm sleeping, he says.

I'm lying on my stomach, trying to focus on the copy of The Hunchback or Notre Dame that I'll need to have read for my college "Foreign Literature: Themes and Styles" but well, focus is evading me. Maybe, because it just might be one of the most boring books known to man. Seriously, the first twenty-or so pages just go on and on about the stupid fucking _windows_, that are "ogived" or something. What the hell is ogive? It seems to be important, the damned author keeps going on about it.

"Hey, Rox," I say slowly, "what the hell is ogive?"

He rotates around to face me on his swivel desk chair, the standard model, with boring, mildly scratchy, grey upholstery and everything. "In relation to what?"

"Windows," I feel a loathing for all things window related building inside me, thank you, Victor Hugo, for opening my eyes to the evil that is the common window. I never knew they could be so boring, or maybe that was just because you spent more then a sentence or two talking about them! Christ.

"It's a pointed arch, from the gothic period I think. Why the hell are you asking?"

I tilt the book so he can read the cover, he laughs, that unfeeling bastard. "Sorry I asked," he mutters, before turning back to the computer again. Shooting a glare at the back of my heartless boyfriend's back I return the book. Or try to. It's just… _so boring_.

"Hey, Rox," I start again; thinking now is as good a time to harass him as any, "when can we tell people about us?"

He stops typing.

Then he starts a new line with a decidedly angry tap of the "enter" key. "We've talked about this, Ax."

_Well, that's a crappy answer if ever I hear one. _"Remind me."

He snorts, "Aren't you the one who's always saying 'got it memorized'? Irony much?"

"Fuck you."

"Why would I when you do it so well?"

"You're avoiding the subject."

"Well," he says in that voice that means there is no chance I'm going to like what's about to come out of his mouth, shit, time to run for cover, "they would ask _questions._"

It's probably too early to sigh in relief but I do anyway, "Oh, gee Rox, that'll be tough. Let's see, yes, we are having sex, and enjoying it too thank you very much, no, we do not feel what we do is sinful, nor do we feel the urge to be hair stylists or interior decorators, fuck off please."

Too late, I notice the small little smirk curling at the corner of Roxas' lips. Hoo boy, that does not bode well, no sirree.

"Or, you know, other things. Do you really want them to know how much you like bottoming for instance? Or, there's always how much you like being tied up?"

My cheeks heat, which is bad, for one because that's showing weakness in front of the enemy, and yes, Roxas _is_ the enemy, and two, well, it looks bad when I blush because of my hair. Although, I'm really too damned sexy naturally for it to do much damage.

"Fuck you, Rox. I don't care."

He sighs in this put-upon manner, like I'm the one who's being unreasonable. "Why? What's wrong with this?"

"Nothing! I just-I hate hiding it like what we do is wrong! Fuck that! It's not, and if anyone actually gives a shit and says it's a 'sin' or whatever bullshit argument they have because fuck them, I don't care what they think!"

"If you don't care about what they think, why do you care about what they know?"

"Oh, fuck off, that's different! I just want to be able to fucking _touch you_ in public with out having to look around first to see if any one noticed! It's not like anyone would actually care!"

"_Some_ people would! And that's not the fucking point! I don't see why we have to fucking advertise ourselves!" We're both standing up by now, yelling at each other a mere foot apart.

"Oh, please! Who the fuck would care? _Cloud_? He's too busy drooling over Leon when he thinks no one is looking to give a fuck about us, and besides, he already knows! Or maybe Paine and Rikku? At least they had the balls to come of the fucking closet and say they were dating, which evidently _you don't have_! In fact, the only person who might actually be at all freaked out would be _Leon_, and he's too fucking silent to say anything under normal circumstances! What do you think? Refusing to admit it means it's not happening? What the fuck are you think, Roxy?!"

"That's not-"

"And besides, if Leon's gonna get pissed at someone for being a fucking flamer, he should start with his brother! Who might as well fuck Riku**(2)** right in front of us for all of his secrecy! Or _maybe_, it's Cloud's little blonde cousin that you're worrying about. You know, the one you kept fucking staring at! _Real fucking subtle,_ by the way, _asshole_!"

"Would you shut up? You're totally overreacting!"

"No, I'm not! I actually think I'm rather justified that the guy who has been fucking me for-"

He claps a hand over my mouth. It smells like cherries. Odd. "Would you please just _shut up!"_ His voice is a steely, barely controlled whisper that rips through the stifled silence, MSI having faded into the background. Or maybe that's just my ears being fucked up. I hesitate for a second, I can't say why, probably never will, before trying to shove him off me so I can continue my tirade, and I was just getting into it. Fucker.

He shoves me harder; I didn't shove him that hard. I tumble backwards onto the bed and follows on top of me, cherry-scented hand still covering my mouth. I notice with a vague disinterest, it would be much less vague if I wasn't so furious, that he's straddling me. You know what's really weird? His hips. They're really… hot; temperature wise. Well, actually in that other way too. Wait, shit, I'm supposed to be mad at him.

"Now if you would just listen to me for a couple minutes, I'll tell you exactly why I don't want to tell people we're fucking, okay?" This is probably a really random thought, but I'm really glad he didn't say capisce right then, I think I might have shot myself for clichéd-ness if he had. Or savvy, savvy might have been just as bad. He's staring me right in the eye as he says it, like it'll make me understand better because of some shared telepathic link. Right, I'm so sure that'll work. His oblivion-blue eyes (funny how he and Sora have the same eye color, but Sora's eyes look like happy-sparkly-fun-puppy-rainbow-monstrosity-of-love-or-something, and Roxas' just look like oblivion) narrow, oooh, I think that means he's serious (snort).

Hmm, something just occurred to me, Axel has a plan, yes he does, (cue evil laughter and lightening flashes). I shove my anger aside, temporarily, and focus instead on the way he's pressed against me; I let my eyes half-shut, tilt my hips and spread my legs a little, just enough. An invitation with being overly slutty, not that it really matters at this point. Keeping my eyes locked with his, I bite his hand. Not hard, just enough to let my teeth scrape over smooth, nancy-boy flesh. He stops mid-sentence; and blinks, swallows.

I reach up and gently shove his hand away from my mouth, then none to gently drag his face down to meet mine. What follows is really to full of what couldn't really be called gentle bites to properly be described as kissing. He responds, _of course_, I am damned sexy after all. And Roxas is more than kinky enough to appreciate the joys of angry-sex. So, I let him dominate me (like I mind), bite my neck hard enough to bleed. Call me masochistic, but I really have to agree with the theory that without pain (in moderation), sex just isn't that great. I rock my hips against his with the perfect amount of slowness to infuriate him (daze him) and wait for him to get hard and pressing not unpleasantly against me (struggling not to respond in kind), before I shove him off roughly, he lands on the hardwood floor of his bedroom with a _thunk_.

I yawn and stretch unconcernedly. He stares at me with confusion, brain too fogged by lust to think straight. He looks so beautiful there, dazed and flushed, and the littlest bit pissed as he catches on. Standing, I stare down my long nose at him, "Sorry babe, I'm afraid, I-I just can't do this," I should've been a fucking actor, that mocking-regret in my voice is just enough to royally piss him off, "it just-it feels wrong, sneaking around. And you know, as a good Christian boy, I must do what I think is right," I give him a wink that's pure lust and lies and walk out of his room and shut the door behind me.

And now is the time for anger I put away earlier; because I need all of it to keep me walking away, keep me from turning back and fucking him senseless. I collapse against the front door as I close it behind me; that might just have been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It's comforting to know it's worse for him.

* * *

_"Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me, synthetic ecstasy… when my mind is frozen."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Scotty Doesn't Know-Lustra/ Physical (You're So)-Nine Inch Nails  
**

Ah, mornings, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I'm wondering if cruelty to animals includes, er, _silencing_ stupid fucking song birds. Ah yes, it's a beautiful time to be awake. Sadly, I have to go to work in a bit so I need to shower and dress and whatever the hell else it is I do to get ready in the morning.

I stagger off the couch I'm still sleeping on and stumble to the bathroom only to find Leon in there, wearing nothing but a towel. You know Karma (you fucking bitch), if you wanted to totally fuck me over you could choose a slightly less clichéd way, although, I do have to admit, this is better than that whole Truth or Dare thing. Although, I'm not sure if that was you, or just Yuffie being an asshole, it does seem like the kind of thing she'd enjoy doing.

I blink stupidly at Leon and try to remember what it is I'm supposed to do in situations like these, something with my mouth… oh right, speaking.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Silence. This is what we like to call awkward. Learn to recognize it; you'll see it a lot.

"Um, if you need the shower I just need to brush my teeth and I'll be out of your way."

I nod. Not quite trusting myself to speak. It's the kind of silence where all the involved parties know there are things they should be saying, that they want to say but are too damned scared. Rather similar to the silence in Riku's car actually.

"How was Aerith's? I only remember the first half. Did Rin ever show up, she said she would?"

I shake my head, "Nah, she didn't. Uh… the party was… you know the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary." Certainly nothing you need to hear about. Specifically how that whore Yuffie (who I will get revenge on) made me kiss you. Certainly not how you liked it, made that little sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh that I felt more than heard. Never ever how I forgot about our audience and let my tongue slide against your lips, and I'll take to the grave the way your lips parted and you made that tiny sound of unhappiness when in that same instant Yuffie's squeal signaled us to part. So, yeah, Aerith's party was all normal. Same old, same old, you know how it goes.

You nod and brush your teeth as your loosely wrapped towel slides slowly lower over your wet body. _Fuck!_ I yell mentally, mesmerized as the tattoo on your hipbone is revealed with aching slowness. A girly place for a tattoo you'd always complain, but then you'd laugh a little and say you were so wasted at the time you're just happy you didn't get a rose or a butterfly, something girly like that. The meaningless black and red design at least credits you with some redeeming qualities of masculinity.

"Cloud?"

I shake my head to clear it of the reverie and stare Leon in the face.

"You okay there, man? You'd zoned out for a bit."

I lick suddenly dry lips and nod, not quite trusting myself to speak, nor really move. I know how easy, how tempting, it would be to push you back against the counter and kiss you, slide my tongue between your lips, and you know darling, I don't think you'd resist. You'd probably enjoy it. It would be so very easy. It is so very tempting. So I wait, not breathing, eyes shut, as you hesitate for a second and close the door behind you.

"Fuck," I slide down the blue tiled wall so easily. Sitting miserably on the floor and stare at the tiles between my bare feet, trying to find the energy to stand up and cross the floor to the shower; sweet, shampoo-scented steam heavy in my nose and coating the mirror with its foggy whiteness.

* * *

_"Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me, synthetic ecstasy… when my mind is frozen."_

* * *

**(1)**While I'm fully convinced you all know what these are, I feel the need to explain. (They're so damned cool!) Okay, take a glass bottle (a good size, like a wine bottle) and fill it with your choice of flammable liquids. Ethanol mixed with tar and gasoline is the classic, and either cork the bottle, or soak a rag in flammable liquid and place in the neck, then secure the rag and close the opening so it doesn't leak mid-flight, if you went with the rag method, ignite, and throw, if you didn't take the rag route, strap some kind of flammable material (or pyrophoric if you want to feel like a smarty-pants) ignite that, and then throw. 

**(2)**Okay, it was brought to my attention (by the fabulous Trekiael whose reviews make me squee) that this makes it sound like Sora is on top. To which I have only this to say, "Oh dear sweet Christ (I'm not religious but whatever) NO!!! Ew!!! I would further like to add that Sora topping is terrifying and disturbing (much like SoraKairi) and that when girls fucking guys is spoken of it's still "fucking" even though they are (in theory) not the "penetrating partner" or whatever. And no, Sora will never ever be on top 'cause that's just wrong.

Mmmsm yup, there it be. Oh, and for those of you who might be disturbed by Roxas topping, I blame **The Kingdom by the Sea** by **Roxal**, which is this smuttly lil oneshot, and it's all well written and for some reason I'm now addicted to Roxas on top, it's weird.

I love reviews like I love pandas who can sing, which is irrelevant but you should review anyway!


	9. eBay

up, it is here (finally), the ninth chapter. W00t! (Or something...) (You should thank **BoyOrgy** for harrasing me at school to post that I got it done this quickly.)

Yes, random **notes**, most, if not all, of which are relevant.

First, t**his chapter's divider is a loving tribute to friendly hostility**, which you should all go read, (friendlyhostility (dot) com). One of the best webcomics ever.And I **blame my beta** (**blondevil**, who is my fucking superhero), 'cause it was essentially her idea. Don't think she thought I'd actually do it though... that happens a lot, usually I get pissed and she laughs her ass off, anyways...

Second, I **didn't bother to send this to my beta** 'cause she's off somewhere and I'm impatient. I _did_ proof read a couple times though. I'll probably send it to her and re-post with edits, so if you're neither brave nor impatient, wait a while. Though I think I did a _pretty good_ job of editing, so it should be fine.

Third, **memaisekuna** gave me the actual german for back in Chapter 7, with the random polylinguality. Much thanks to her, and if you're curious, you can check it out, w00t.

I'm pretty sure I had something else to say, whatever, I talk too much as it is. All well.

Reviewers! I love you like I love the **Ding Dong Song**, which is a lot.

* * *

_Baby, I want to bang you like a trash can lid and sell your kidneys on eBay... all night long._

* * *

**Zexion BGM: You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)- Dead or Alive**

So, we're at the beach again... I think we go to the beach too much. Then again, other than Rhapsody and the bookstore/café combo (don't you just love those?) there really isn't much to do here. And our Halo 2 fetish died about a month ago, video games just haven't been the same since. Don't you just hate it when you find that one perfect thing, and you want everything else to be as good, but it just never is? Yeah, that's a bummer. Happens all the time, I think the moral there is we're not supposed to compare things, isn't that what they always tell you in school, think about you're grades, not you're friends'. Yeah, something like that.

It's just me and Dem, the way it's been pretty much the entire time since Naminé left, odd how she was the one who kept us all as a cohesive whole. I think Larxy-Warxy (I did not just think that) is off with Marly-poo… okay, the random affectionate nicknames have got to go. What's next, Demy-kins? My little Demy-dear? Gah.

The moon is burning in the sky like a giant, radioactive silver-dollar. It blazes a path across the so-dark-as-to-be-black waters of the beach and I find myself entertaining the notion of trying to run on it, then I realize I'm on crack and there's no way that would work; which, for no real reason, brings my attention back to rather unpleasant way the sand under my ass has wormed its way into the waistband of my rough, black jeans (girl jeans, skater jeans, fag jeans, not that it matters). Lying propped up on my elbows, the denim curve where the stiff material arches away from the curve of the small of my back (you know when you can see down the back of girls' pants and their nasty-ass ass cracks, yeah, that curve) makes the sands' mission easy. Apparently my belt does nothing to eliminate said curve, which makes it a useless fashion accessory, because that's the only reason I wear it, to eliminate the dreaded ass curve. You know it, The Belt. The one that absolutely everyone (with one or two exceptions has) black leather, squashed metal studs. Yeah, _that_ belt.

Demyx beside me tries to scratch discretely at his forehead underneath the black stocking cap he's wearing. The cap means he was too lazy to do his hair this morning. He thinks we don't know; it's kind of cute. I mean… manly; very, very manly.

Ah, fuck it, I think I kissed any semblance of manliness away when I got emo hair and fag jeans, whatever. I steal the hat when he stops scratching and moves his arm back to support position and stash it underneath my ass where he can't get it.

"Se-xy," he whines, lower lip jutting out cutely.

"It's uncomfortable and you look better without it," I say stolidly, refusing to yield to the pout.

He pouts a bit more, and then resolutely ruffles his flattened hair with his fingers to eliminate the evils of hat-hair. This actually works for him, I've never seen it work for anyone else, but Dem, of course, can do it. Hail to Demyx, he who performs the miracle of hat hair banishing!

Hair successfully fluffed he settles back and watches the waves, silence settling around us like a comfortable blanket. That is, until he starts humming. Quietly at first, so I wasn't sure if I was hearing things or not. Then louder, and louder; and by then he's digging his heels rhythmically into the sand and swaying his shoulders into mine, so I have no choice but to join in. An ironic half-smile playing across my lips as I recognize the dulcet tune of my favorite song from three –four?- years ago.

The quiet sound of shifting sand drags my attention to Dem who's standing up, ear bud in one ear, the other in the hand extended to me. To my credit, I only hesitate a little before taking it, the ear bud and the hand. I slide the ear bud in and my smile widens as I stand up, my hand in his. He's the one who starts dancing, a lazy… salsa? I can't remember the names, only the steps. The physical education department at the high school decided to get inventive and add in various dances to the curriculum, to which all I can say is never, ever again. That and I'm dying of shock that it's actually coming in handy, in an odd sort of way.

His fingers twine with mine and his free arm loops across my shoulder, all but forcing me to join him. My free hand moves automatically to a place high on his waist, completely proper I assure you. Soft calypso (I think that's right, I never was good with the whole genre thing) rhythm fills my brain as we dance lackadaisically across the sand. Enthusiasm growing as we remember the steps, by the second verse, we're singing "_Franky-boy lie in t'e grass wit' me, moon over Woodstock underneat' t'e tree, Just bloooooow… just blooooooooooow…"_ The vague, detached part of my brain registers that I'm dancing with Demyx on the beach in the moonlight singing about dead hippies and drugs, and blowing, _Demyx is singing about blowing_. But I don't really care, 'cause for once it isn't about sex or wanting, it just is. And if it had to be about anything, it'd be about weird druggie-songs. "_RE-volution make yo' mind go free, peace 'nd freedom and a love communityyyy. Psychadelic posters on your wall, Jimi, Janice, yeah you knew them allllll. Ma-ri-uh-juan-uh in yo' brain."_ We're getting louder; we're getting closer, his hips almost touching mine, his fingers twining into my hair. Our foreheads pressing comfortably together, noses touching, breath mingling, and it's _still_ not about sex. This has got to be a record.

My hand glides lower and over, resting on the small of his back, one finger hooked in the back belt loop of his ragged blue jeans, he moves closer to me in response, all chocolate chip cookie breath and soft hair, "_A spacey mushroom landed in yo' mouth. You couldn't tell your north from your south, No waaaay… no waaaaaaaaay."_

He's right up next to me now, flush up against me, that's the phrase, and the pleasant sensation of the sand between the toes of my bare feet is somehow what makes the moment so damned perfect. He throws back his head belting the last bit of the final chorus, moving with me, against me, all the way, "_While all the hippies make love under the stars, I'd rather do it on the back seat of a caaaar! Hare Krishnas mean the same old tune, the golden sixties was a time of fools! Ma-ri-uh-juan-uh in yo' brain!!" _His forehead presses back against mine, my arm fully around his waist by now, pulling him close to me, breath mingling again at the final… bridge… thing? It doesn't really matter because it's all just so damned right and perfect, by which I mean I haven't jumped him yet. This is an improvement, really.

It's not until the song peters out and we're still pressed together that I realize just how damned close we are, or rather, how damned close his parted lips are to mine. I'd hazard a guess at around less than an inch. And the thumb of his hand still intertwined with mine is moving softly over the skin of my hand. And if it wasn't totally insane, I'd say it was almost a caress and that he knew exactly what he was doing, with the song and the dancing and now this, and _fuck _he's so damned close.

His lips are still so damnably, wonderfully close to mine, when his eyes flicker up to meet mine and I realize I was wrong when I said they were blue. Which isn't too say they aren't blue, they are, blue and a little something more; some indefinable shade of green that's unnoticeable until you're this close and then you wonder how you never noticed before.

It's probably just my wistful imagination but I could have sworn his lips were moving closer when a niggling little voice in the back of my mind wonders if _Larxene_ knows what color his eyes really are. Then my arm is detaching from his waist and I'm stepping slowly back, shamed at how my hand (which seemed to have taken up a mind of its own) was loath to leave his.

And then the withering little voice adds that it is as likely that it is regret in his eyes, and his lips coming closer, as it is that I can across the path of molten silver slicing the black ocean in twain. And then it laughs and I settle back onto the soft sand, not nearly so comfortable now.

Demyx, still smiling, eternally smiling, sits besides me and other than a slight air of melancholy in the air, it's as it was before.

"So," he says when the silence became too much, "Are you coming to Rhapsody tonight?"

I shrug a shoulder, refusing to look at him, "Mmm, I wasn't really planning on it. Are you working tonight?"

He nods, "Mmhmm, I get off 'round one. You should swing by, could be fun."

Blue Rhapsody. The Islands' only night club, and it's not even on the islands. The owner lives on the islands though, so we can pretend. Because we all know the city council would never endorse the building of such a thing, so we pay the ferry fees and pretend that it's really ours, not the mainland's, like everything else. Demyx works as a DJ there most nights of the week, the pay isn't too great, he says, but it's something he enjoys doing so it doesn't really matter. Whatever.

I call Marluxia, who was heading over there anyway. I think he goes pretty much every night, and comes home with a different chick every night. He is the honored master of the one night stand, he even manages to make it not be hurtful when the next morning he rolls over, sees you in his bed, and asks you to get the fuck out. I'm sure he doesn't phrase it that way, and the majority of his bedmates only complaint is that they will always have to leave.

Marluxia had a girlfriend once. They were in love, he says, they were happy, he says, and then she left him for some rich, forty-year-old someone or other. Then he found a boyfriend. They weren't quite happy, he says, but they weren't complaining, and then _he_ left him to be the kept-boy to some rich, sixty-year-old someone or other. He was a lot less broken up about it the second time, he says, he's not really gay anyway, he just didn't want to get his heart broken again; thought it would be different with a guy.

After the departure of the nameless boyfriend, Marluxia realized the best way to not get his heart broken would just be a serious of endless, nameless, one night stands. Most of us already knew this; he's just not so quick on the uptake. Most of his take-homes know what's going to happen come morning, I guess it's just hard to get rid of that damned hope that he'll see something special in you and let you stay. No such luck for any of them, Marluxia continues to spend his summer breaks from college getting laid as many times as possible with as many women as possible. He studies during the semester, only goes out three nights a week. I guess when you look as good as he does; you can get away with murder.

We met him last winter, a couple of days after New Years', when he tried to pick up Naminé, and Larxene bitch-slapped him so hard his eyes watered and the red handprint stayed for days. We, Dem and I, bought him an apology (how was he to know she was taken and gay) drink and then we started talking… next thing anyone knew he was agreeing to play in the band we were thinking of starting (just to give us something to do to while away the monotonous Saturday afternoons) but realized we needed more than the two of us.

Walking into _anywhere_ with Marly, it's an experience; a lesson in invisibility if you will. He has… that thing… vibe, aura, whatever. It makes you want to know him, get close to him, and in the case of pretty much every straight female or gay guy, fuck him. He's just… _like that_, needless to say, no one some much as glances at me; skulking, slouchy shadow to the radiant pink haired god. Actually, the dye was starting to fade back into his original tan brown. (Dun, he'll say scornfully, it's _dun_.) He stares down at the writhing sea of people on the floor below him and smiles, I can't decide if it's like a magician who just executed a complex trick or a tiger before it pounces.

The actual floor of the club is dug down two stories below ground level, the middle level runs mostly in the back quarter and along the sides, the door is at ground level, giving you a feeling of omnipotence, surveying the horde of diminished figures. He turns to me and smiles like a friend sharing a particularly good joke (eyes crinkling up at the corners) and slings an arms across my narrow shoulders. "Shall we?" his tone is mocking, but I can't tell at what. His arm slides down from my shoulders and his hand catches mine, he parades down the metal grill stairs, hips already swaying entrancingly to the beat, pulling me in with him.

* * *

_Baby, I want to bang you like a trash can lid and sell your kidneys on eBay... all night long._

* * *

**Axel BGM: Stoned On Love Again: Lords of Acid**

The thick, rubber soles of my knock-off combat boots scuff the ground as I walk along the sidewalk. The bass pouring from my ratty old headphones is loud enough, hard enough, to make my molars ache… _rhythmically_, of course, which makes it okay. The old lady I pass on the street eyes me curiously and it takes me a second to remember that you can hear the lyrics a couple feet away with the volume this high. Well fuck her. If she doesn't like it she can just get her own damned headphones, then she won't hear mine, stupid bitch. Stupid fucking Roxas, making me walk home. Well, so maybe it wasn't entirely his fault, but… Wait. What the fuck am I saying? Of _course_ it's his fault, the stupid… fuck.

Which, for the record; is all I actually intended for him to be, a fuck, that's it. Now would be a great time for some Queer as Folk-ly comments on "the one night stand that never left", and honestly, I'd love to make them, but that's not how it happened at all. What _did_ happen was this.

I kept _trying_ to get into his pants, right? And he was continuously resistant; in a very loud, occasionally painful (not that I minded the pain) way. While this would deter the average person, I, in looks, intelligence, affinity for fire, and pretty much everything, am _not_ average. Hence, my complete lack of quitting.

Even when Roxas had juggernauted so far out of the zone of "Hard to get" that it wasn't even a miniscule speck on the horizon, I continued. (For the record, he got out of the stage of "Hard to get" in a few short hours, the little brat is that damned repellent.) But somewhere along the line, it became a casual, _habitual_ even, factor of our lives. I hit on him, he shoves me off, yells at me, or whatever, we move on. I think it was around that there we became friends, which is remarkable in itself.

I'm not sure if you've ever experienced this, but spending large amounts of time with someone who is trying to get into your pants ad infinitum, not in even in a joking manner, is really, really fucking annoying. Actually spending _any_time with someone like that is really bloody annoying, especially when you happen to be as strongly against the idea as he was. (Which I still don't get, it's not like he didn't enjoy it. He'd moan like anything when I kissed him, or that one memorable occasion he woke up with a boner and I tried to jerk him off… but then he'd shove me off and glare or yell, usually both.) So, I guess I did sort of tire out of it, the game is only fun for so long. I mean, I kept hitting on him, that's for sure. I just kept it verbal, most of the time. There was still the occasion session of "Let's Pin Roxas To the Wall or Nearest Other Vertical (Occasionally Horizontal) Surface and See How Long It Takes For Him To Shove Me Off" (I think my record was about five minutes… he was a little tipsy**(1)**), but they were infrequent.

I still wanted him, I just showed it less. So then, Roxas, being a contrary little piss ant to this day, jumps _me_. Honestly.

I remember it (mostly) perfectly. We were sitting on his bed watching some stand-up comedian or another, because it was Winter Break and _his_ friends were off skiing and _mine_ were somewhere nice and tropical (or was it the other way around) so we had nothing to do, and nothing is better with someone else, nothing with Roxas is the best. Roxas' parents were, and are, a lot like Leon's dad, in that neither of them are ever there, therefore they can't bug you about eating nothing but junk food, or not doing you're homework, or letting your friends stay for extremely long amounts of time (and that was even _before_ we were fucking). So they didn't care what the fuck we did, not like they would ever know about it.

One second I'd been laughing into the commercials at something the person on the television had said, and the next he's sitting in my lap, one hand in my hair, the other already making its way under my shirt as he sticks his tongue so far down my throat it felt like he was trying to lick my toes.

Which sounds gross and kind of painful but in reality feels _really fucking good_, or maybe that's only when Roxas is the one doing it to you. Either way I figured that he was just being a tease, but may as well enjoy it as much as possible while it lasted, right? So, I grabbed his ass and stuck _my_ tongue down _his_ throat. And I would just like to state for the record that we both stone fucking sober at the time.

It was what happened after that that really fucked with my mind. It wasn't like I'd never had sex before, and it wasn't like that for him either. I could tell. In the cold efficiency with which he removed all my clothes and most of his before I really had time to think. The lube and condoms in the top drawer of the bedside table were a good hint too. I'd even been in what could, be very loosely, called a relationship, the longest had lasted a month. And with no exception had I ever been stopped on my way out the door. To me, it had always seemed the thing to do, one of those little rituals of most of humanity. You drink coffee in the morning, and leave after you fuck. That's just how it worked. It mitigated the morning after awkwardness, but Roxas…

I got up to go, stiff and sore, but oh so satisfied, and he caught my wrist in his sleep as he rolled over onto his stomach muttering about hippos into his pillow, faintly bloody half-moon imprints from my nails on his shoulders gleaming dimly in the dawn light. Movements jerky, I shifted back under the covers and wondered what the fuck was I supposed to do now I was here? Was I supposed to touch him? Was it required?

I wanted to; I realized vaguely, wanted to slide my hands comforting over the bare shoulder blades, apology for the blood I'd drawn. But I didn't know… the kid was such a touch-me-not. Well, when _wasn't_ pounding me into his mattress.

He settled the debate for me by slinging an arm across my shoulder, a leg across my hips and burying his nose in my collar bone. This… was different. He looked so damned…childlike in his sleep. When he wasn't focusing on being a cold prick he just looked cute. Sort of like Sora actually, which was a creepy and disturbing thought.

I was understandably pissed when he woke up in the morning and asked what the fuck I was still doing there.

* * *

_Baby, I want to bang you like a trash can lid and sell your kidneys on eBay... all night long._

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Do You Like Waffles?-Parry Gripp**

"So… you and Leon…" Naminé leaves the sentence hanging as she thuds her heels rhythmically against the wall of the counter she was perched on.

I flip a pancake that looks like it has too many surface bubbles and say nothing. Neither does she. It turns out she is better at the silent-game then I am because it is I who yields with a highly intellectual, "Eh?"

She rolls her eyes, "Oh, you know."

Actually, cousin dear, the fact that I asked rather denotes the fact that I, in fact, _do not_ know, so why don't you just tell me, hmm?

"Well," she says as if this is obvious, "You guys live together."

"Yeah." Way to state the obvious. I really was not aware of that.

"So, you guys are close, yeah?"

No, he lets me live here because he hates me.

Seeing that her masterminded interrogative process has yet to crack my brilliant mind (ooh, I feel like a genius) she sighs dejectedly and mutters, "Forget it, those pancakes done yet?" I flip two onto a plate and pass it to her, still saying nothing. "You don't talk much, do you?" I shrug, re-grease, and add batter.

"Cloud, m'dear, have I ever told you that I love, adore, and worship you?" Sadly, it's the wrong Leonhart.

I stick my tongue out in greeting to a bedraggled and sleepy Sora, _Sure, doll face, love you too. _

He beams at me, sunshine bright, and bounces over to the cabinet for a plate. Feeling sadistic, or maybe playful (is there even a difference), I flip three in Sora's general direction. He blinks once, twice, then with a disturbing amount of skill moves the plate about to catch them. Smiling beatifically, he strikes a victory stance, "Oh, yeah! I won!" **(2) **not noticing the way one slides off its precarious perch on the plate's lip as he does so, and lands on the floor with a greasy slap until it was too late.

"Nnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooo!" he yells, falling to his knees, waving his free fist about in semi-mock misery. "My life has no _meaning_!"

A soft laugh behind me tells me that Naminé is enjoying the display as I slide another pancake onto Sora's plate. He blinks at me with big blue eyes then springs back to happiness with an even wider (read: more maniacal) grin than before. Sliding his plate onto the counter he jumps onto my back, arms around my neck, legs gripping my waist tightly. I almost drop my spatula in the attempt to grab his legs.

"I love you, Cloudo!" yells the stupid monkey on my back.

"Cloudo?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," his chin bumps into my shoulder as he nods enthusiastically. "I was talking to _Selphie_ the other day, and she was saying something about… well, I can't remember what is was about because I wasn't paying much attention and she spoke _real _fast, you know how she does, because she was trying to beat the final boss of Resident Evil 4 and get her brownies out of the oven _all at the same time_, and well… anyway, I _think_ she was talking about Japanese, like the language, for some weird reason… and anyway, there was something about adding an –o to the end of words… or was it names… Yeah, except you don't write it… or do you? Whatever, I think she's full of crack, she's such a crack-whore, like that time when-"

"Sora, for the love of god, shut the fuck up," Leon cuts in, his ever-cheerful morning mood already evident.

My head snaps around at the unexpected voice, banging painfully into Sora's skull.

"Ah, fuck," I mutter rubbing a hand to the sore spot.

"Cloud, stop stabbing me in the eye with your freaking spatula, you stupid son of a bitch!" Sora yelps.

"Eh, well, maybe if you weren't clinging to my back like a demented lemur!"

"_Demented lemur! _I'll show you a demented lemur!" A second later nimble, bony fingers were digging their way into my sides, making me squeak and jump like a girl.

"Your mother!" I yell, twisting and stabbing him with my spatula, hereby known as … The Death Spatula! Sora squeals as the sacred weapon scorches his traitorous flesh. Burn Infidel! Burn! You doubt the Spatula's powers and thine-own lemur-ness! Thou shalt pay! And pay dearly, my minute little adversary! I feel a victorious and no doubt sinister laugh bubble out of my mouth as Sora emits a series of yipping war cries.

"Guys!" a voice yells, is it Leon, or Naminé, all well, too busy to care. Oddly enough, it's remarkably hard to dodge someone's attacks when they're clinging to your back and you're contorting your back into chiropractor-enriching positions just to get back at him. The voice, or is it voices, yells again, but Sora and I drown them out as we maneuver, or attempt to maneuver, ourselves to a position where we have the advantage. I'm pretty damned sure that such a position doesn't actually exist, or at least not humanly possible, but we'll keep searching anyway.

"Guys!"

Sora's vicious barrage of two-fingered pokes continues and I retaliate by attempting to shove him off and stab him with The Death Spatula at the same time.

"The pancakes are _burning_!"

With a scarily effeminate yelp Sora yelps and shoves my shoulders around so I'm facing the skillet that is indeed giving off some noxious fumes and smoking heartily.

"Ah, goddamn it. Sora, fetch the trash."

"Why should I get the trash can? Not _my_ fault they burned."

"Actually, it was, you demented lemur!"

"Well, maybe if your face wasn't so hideous that-"

Something nudges my thigh, beneath where Sora's legs are wrapped around my waist. I glance up to meet flat cobalt eyes. Slowly, a thin brown eyebrow raises imperceptibly, _Sometimes I wonder about you._

My eyes widen innocently as I toss the ruined ones into the receptacle in Leon's waiting hand, _I have no idea what you're talking about._

His other eyebrow raises as well, _Yu-huh, right; s_haking his head a marginal degree the brunette of my dreams walks away chuckling quietly. Naminé, still sitting on the counter, looks confused, she doesn't get it. Sora, from what I can see of his face when I crane my neck, just looks bored.

"Sora, c'mon, get off him," Leon murmurs quietly into Sora's ear, conveniently located quite close to my own so his long hair swings down to brush the bare skin revealed by the wide neck of the T-shirt I dragged on this morning, after realizing I didn't have to go to work.

Sora shook his emphatically, wayward spikes bitch-slap my neck and ears.

"Sora, you're sixteen years old, or you have sixteen years, if that's how you want to think about it, stop clinging to Cloud like you're four," Leon whispers in that voice that always seemed to say, "Listen to what I'm telling you or there will be consequences… bitch." I suppose I should give Sora credit for not immediately obeying the command, but honestly, I just wanted the little brat off my back. I was getting tired, especially after the fight.

I shrug, attempting to loosen his hold on my neck, "Sora, get off my back, seriously." He tightens his legs uncomfortably around my waist and shakes his head again.

"Why should I?"

"You are such an asshole," Leon mutters under his breath, I glance at him surprised. He's usually pretty tolerant of his little brother's retarded stunts, surprising for him to react so strongly. There must be some other emotion at play here, underneath the surface. He gives me a reassuring look that tells me he wasn't talking about me.

"Sora, I'm the one who does all the cooking around here, do you think you'll be getting anything decent to eat if you piss me off?" Evidently, I had found the way to enslave him, perhaps even better than the blackmail. There's a funny feeling in my gut that tells me this knowledge will come in handy later on.

Sora leaps quickly off my back and snatches his abandoned plate. "Aww, it's cold!" he wails.

"Wonder why," Leon mutters sarcastically as he drags his hair back into a loose braid to keep it out of his eyes.

"Can't imagine," I smirk at the stove, instead of him.

A loud polyphonic rendition of "Love Love Shine" broke through the silence. Sora yelps and dragged the loud and vibrating phone from the pocket of his jeans, "Riku!"

I guess he had that thing where specific people get certain ring tones. I can't give the kid many points for subtlety; he did set his boyfriend's ring tone to such a blatant love song.

Naminé, who honestly I'd forgotten was still there, slides off the counter and puts her dishes in the sink, "Thanks for breakfast," she murmurs, giving me a hug. I stiffen as her arms slide around me, unused to physical contact with anyone but my closest friends, who've I've known for so long it's like I hardly notice, I stiffen more so when she whispers softly in my ear, "You should hang out with him tonight."

She says it so softly I'm not sure if she did or not, she did it so quietly and quickly. The uncertainty of whether it happened or not gives the idea more validity in this mixed up mind of mine. As she walks away her cell phone rings as well, not a specialized ring though, and she glances at the screen before answering, "Hey, Rin, what's up?"

It occurs to me for some reason, as I watch her walk away, that I should reevaluate my opinion of my fair blonde cousin.

* * *

_Baby, I want to bang you like a trash can lid and sell your kidneys on eBay... all night long._

* * *

**Sora BGM: Barrel of a Gun-Guster**

"Hey, Sora?" Riku's voice sounds uncertain. That's odd. Riku is never uncertain. You could ask him to do some complex trick, one he'd never done before, tell him his life depended on it and he'd still be cool and collected. And then, after he succeeded, as you know he always would, he could honestly tell you that he wasn't worried at all.

"Mmm, what's up? Other than Cloud and Leon being total hoes," I mutter in a quiet undertone.

"Heh, they screwing yet?"

"Oh, totally," I drawl sarcastically, "Please, Ri, do you even have to ask?"

"Ha, sorry. Wishful thinking, like maybe the giant stick up Leon's ass would disappear if there was something actually there."

"Dude! That's my _brother_ you're talking about! Eww, that is so fucking sick."

"Ah, sorry. You're right. Um… that's not why I called."

"Geez, I should certainly hope not. How sick would _you_ be?" I laugh easily into the phone. He doesn't, laugh that is. My smile dies, "So, why did you call then?"

"Uh, I was wondering if…" Why the fuck was Riku stuttering? Or at least speaking in a totally coherent and suave manner? "Sora, do you want to go out with me?"

…

Er, what? "Uh, Riku, isn't that what we were already, you know, doing?"

"No, see, technically were just dating, or something. But, you know, I've never actually taken you out… _on a date_. And so yeah, do you want to go to the movies tonight?"

"Riku, we go to the movies all the time."

"Yeah, but we just go as friends, we've never gone _on a date_ to the movies."

"What, do we get a discount on popcorn or something?"

"No! Well, at least I don't think so… It's just you know… the principle of the thing."

"Um, sure." Oh lord, I do believe Riku's lost his mind. Pity.

"Okay, so I'll pick you up at like seven? Or wait, do you want to eat before or after the movie?"

"Riku, are you taking me out to dinner and a movie?"

"Err, yeah. Why is there a problem?"

"Well, you know I was considering anorexia…" I can't help but joke, "No, not really, other than that being the most basic date known to man, honestly I expect better from you." I can't tell if I'm joking or not, it is pretty trite, or maybe just banal? Or do they mean the same things?

"I was _considering_ taking a long walk on the beach, but the beach is hours away." The sarcasm in his voice is biting.

I laugh, that _would_ be worse, wait… "You are joking, right?"

Riku sighs, "Yeah, So, I'm kidding."

"Oh, okay, right. I figured you know but... 's good to check, yeah? Seven then?"

"Right, seven."

* * *

**(1) **He was, in fact, _a lot_ tipsy. He was in a state most people refer to as "wasted" or "totally shit-faced". 

**(2)** Recognize this and you get a big freaking cookie, for real. Well, the first person to do it, with the exception of **blondevil**, because she has an unfair advantage.

* * *

_Baby, I want to bang you like a trash can lid and sell your kidneys on eBay... All. Night. Long!_

* * *

Okay, the song Dem and Zex sing is **Marijuana In Your Brain-Lords of Acid**, and it's fucking awesome. You should all listen to it. And I cut out like half the lyrics, which took forever to find, because they were all wrong, something about Hare Krishna's stealing your car... it was weird, and annoying.

And is it just me, or is Sora kind of OOC?

Anyway, review please? You know you want to.

You **also** want to take the link in my profile and read **my life in masochism**, because self-advertsing rocks like that.


	10. Shut Me Up

Ha**HA!**Hello and welcome to... **The Super-Shiny-Sparkly **_**Edited**_** Edition **of Chapter 10. With such exciting changes as less typos, and less of me being a whiny bitch! Three cheers for the SSS_E_E!!! (scattered applause) Yeah, whatever.

This is **supremely dedicated** to, of course, **Blondevil**. Who helped my find my magical SMUFFLE BUFF, and because she has strep, SO SHE ABANDONED ME IN CHEM!!!!! (gag) Um, anyway, yes, she also puts up with my retarded emails, sent during the time-consuming process of **not-writing**, which is like writing, but **better.**

And**BoyOrgy** gets a dedication for harrasing me to update (which actually I could do without), and reading that random thing I sent her. And for writing **Naked**, y'all should all go read that.

And**Reviewers, I love you**. Your comments are like the guiding light in the dark cave of my existence! (I did _not_ just say that.)

Um... oh yes. **At this point the author wishes to state that they in no way condone or support the use of alcohol or mind-altering substances, particularly in a irresponsible manner. **(Please also note that the author may or may not be a lying crackwhore, there will be no definite announcements at this time.)

* * *

_"I can't wait for you to shut me up, and make me hip, like, bad-ass!"_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: High School Confidential**

The music makes its way under my skin and into my blood, the way it did to Marluxia the second we stepped in the door. Unwittingly, I'm already moving to the rhythm as Marluxia drags me along. His hand on my wrist as he leads me to an unoccupied table on the balcony ledge where he can scout for tonight's entertainment, like a crow scavenging for corpses hanging on a gallows… really, really willing corpses of course. He shoves me down onto one of the uncomfortable metal chairs, at one of the similarly uncomfortable, yet highly polished, tables. I'm not sure exactly what the decorator was going for, but it _seems_ a lot like they were going for some sort of post-apocalyptic refugee shelter, complete with exposed beams and pipes and such, and a remarkably polished chrome finish. So when the apocalypse comes we can all take comfort in the fact that at least it won't tarnish our shiny, shiny metals.

He says that he'll "be back" one can only hope and assume with drinks. But to assume is to make an ass into… a fool into… something.

The relentless rhythm pounds into my body, my heart too willingly pumping to it's its beat as I realize no matter the danger of assumptions the bass is doing the damage of a bottle wine to my self control; the second reason I like my music quiet. And then I remember why I so dislike clubs. At concerts it's alright, _everyone_ acts like a drunken fool. And on the stage… with the microphone tight in my hand… the slavery to our creation is one of my best assets, the fans eat it up, the way I dance so shamelessly against the pole of the microphone stand, or mosey over to Dem or Marly to dance against them… sometimes it doesn't happen though, like the night Nami announced her departure… similarly the night I jumped Dem on the beach. Heh, guess I have to get my drunken idiocy in somehow.

I realize I'm already dancing as best as I can in my uncomfortable nuclear fall-out chair when out, of the corner of my eye, I catch someone staring at me out, hesitant half-smile an uncertain invitation. I answer with a smile of my own and stand. We take the stairs down to the main area. I dance with her for a while, but the uncertain way her fingers skate over my skin and loop around my neck irritates me and I break away. I was made to dance alone anyway. The bass has its way with me more and more and I put up no resistance as my by no means uncertain fingers trail up and down my body; exploring with relish the open areas of firm chest and stomach exposed by the single-buttoned black silk shirt Marluxia tossed at me after seeing the shirt I had had on.

I pay no heed to the myriad eyes upon me as I dance. I couldn't really care at all about the,. ??? For once I'm not shy and reserved; I'm not going to waste the radiance of this by worrying about the thoughts of some bystanders.

That is, until I realize their attention is diverted to another figure, and then I suddenly find myself caring a great deal. Increasing the fire in the movements of my hips, and the possessiveness with which my hands burn across my own skin. A glimpse of a face stained green and blue by the flashing lights. Marluxia. There is no surprise in his eyes. Sensing the challenge, I step it up. Shamelessly, I molest myself for the crowd's growing rapture. _It's on._

A hand on my wrist and I'm pulled against a firm body. Marluxia. We flow together seamlessly, in the raging, driving heat of the competition and the all-consuming beat. One leg hooked over his hip, his hands on my ass, as we ripple together, but still trying to out to the other.

When the song, it must have gone on forever, fades, we release each other, mostly. Breathing ragged, my fingers stay hooked in the back of his shirt, his hand on my hip, one finger straying below the denim barrier of a waistband. It should be invasive, but isn't in the least. I lean heavily on him, catching my breath, surveying the crowd as the next song builds in intensity.

Somehow, I managed to pick out Demyx. He's staring at me.

Staring at me like he's starved and I'm filet mignon. Staring at me like I'm the last plate of chocolate chip waffles. Staring at me like I'm the embodiment of Kurt Cobain, Jimmy Page and a bunch of other rock stars I don't know and couldn't give a crap about. Then again I was so drunk on music and heat that I also thought I could see pink elephants flying about in the rafters, holding swordfish in their trunks. Either way, I keep my eyes locked on his as I find my tongue darting out to lick suddenly dry lips.

Marluxia's finger still traces the projecting curve of my hip bone, revealed be the gradual lowering of my pants (proving once and for all that damned belt is useless), but my eyes don't leave Demyx, even as Marluxia tilts my head to face his. My head turns back to a halfway point where I can still stare at him, with his parted lips and wide eyes.

"Zexion," Marluxia breathes, face pressed to the side of mine in a way that sends his hot breath scorching down my neck and the loose collar of my shirt and into my veins to meld with the bass and lust already coursing there. The addition makes me shudder and cling to him, my attention all his.

By then, the next song was pounding as hard as the last one, no one was surprised when we danced to that one too, and the next. Our movements increasingly brazen and unabashed as the feverish seconds pass. We sacrifice dignity and modesty for the hundreds of eyes watching us, wanting us, _worshipping_ us.

All the while it's Demyx's eyes I feel the most, scorching me. I'd always thought that the expression of feeling people strip you with their eyes, was just that, an expression. But that's exactly what it felt like he, and all the rest of them, were doing.

Then again, I'm also pretty sure that the pink elephants were fighting a war over a piece of cheese with Jesus' face on it. But the casualties were too high so they decided that the victor would be decided in a best three out of five competition of Mario Tennis… for the N64, closely followed by a tofu dog eating competition.

I slap a falling piece of tofu dog away as Marluxia whirls me around to grind against my ass, his hands comfortable settled in the front pockets of my jeans, essentially feeling me up, but not quite. I reach up and twist my hands in his hair as he bites the side of my neck.

"Fuck Mar, just take me," I mutter, expressing what I realized I'd been feeling all night, ever since he grabbed me to him.

As it just so happens, the song ended right then, and he twisted me around and stared for a long second.

"You need to cool down," he says finally, "Go sit down. I'm going to get you some water." I nod, but he's already gone and my body is too cold in all the places he'd been touching (essentially everywhere). I'm heading over to the stairs when I see Demyx again. I'd lost him somewhere, but here he was again. I walked through the dispersing crowd on onlookers, ignoring the comments and come-ons thrown my way.

I grab a fistful of his form-fitting black Rhapsody shirt and pull him close, "Wanna dance," It isn't a question, but it doesn't matter since his hands are already on me.

Dancing with Demyx… it wasn't like dancing with Marluxia at all. Partially because with Marluxia, he had been the one in charge, and it was really nothing like earlier on the beach, because that had that had been all sweetness and fluff, and this was anything but. Demyx isn't as good a dancer as Marluxia; he doesn't have that feral feline grace. But I like the way his body feels against mine better… and the way he manages to be sweet even when we're grinding with his hands on my ass.

All in all, I think it's a tremendous triumph of will that I lasted three songs before shoving him against a pillar with my tongue down his unresisting, painfully alcohol flavored, throat.

* * *

**Still Zexion) BGM: Absurd (Whitewash)-Fluke**

His kisses are awkward and sloppy; whether that was due to the fact that he's drunk off his ass or if he just doesn't know how to kiss, I don't know and don't care. Either way, the rough slide of his tongue against mine is enough to make us both moan. His fingers scrabbling across my back, clinging desperately as if afraid I'll sublime. My hands slide over his chest and under his shirt, he presses up against me, shoving hot, flushed skin against my hands and moans in my mouth in this way that makes my body burn.

My hands trail lower and find something more interesting, yes, very interesting. The waistband of his jeans, I finger it hesitantly and move to suck his neck.

"Wanna copulate?" I whisper hotly into his ear, then pull back to watch him, my hand already coarsely rubbing against the zipper teeth of his jeans.

His eyes are clouded and unfocused and his lips red and flushed as he nods shakily and stutters out, "Y-yeah… sure…"

I nod and kiss him; his lips look so tempting in the uncertain strobe light. My hands grasp desperately at the suddenly slippery denim, egged on by the noises he makes when I nip his lip just _so_.

I had been about to shove my hand down his pants down when a steely grip on my forearm wrenched me away. Or rather, less close; his fingers too tight in my shirt and my hands too well hooked in his belt loops for us to be truly separated.

Larxene's pointed face is so very angry. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demands sharply.

"We're copu-kupo… copper…" Demyx tries and fails to find the word he's searching so desperately for, "We're having sex," he finishes finally.

Larxene stares at him, "How much did you have to drink?" she demands.

He blinks; after a few seconds he confidently answers, "A few more than a couple!"

"_Numbers_, Demyx."

"Pfft, I dunno, wench. 'Sa problem anyhow? 'ts jus'- jus' Sexy. Theresh nothing wrong with sex with Sexy! Iss… iss sexy-sex… better'n penguin sex…" When exactly did Demyx get an Irish accent?

She turns to me, "What the fuck did you do to him?"

I shrug innocently, "Didn't do nothing. This is the first time I seen him since I got here."

"Chu know that penguins only have sex once a year?"

"Oh, so you're just taking advantage of him?"

"Guess that makes us peas in a bloody pod then!"

"… bit like Christmas when you think about it…"

"The_fuck_ is that s'posed to mean?"

I huff importantly, "Oh… I think you know!"

"…maybe we should make a holiday of it… you know, happy penguin-sex day…"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"What? You think you're the only one who gets to shove him against walls or other vertical surfaces and make-out with him?"

"… hafta admit, it does have a certain ring to it…"

Larxene falters, "Wh-what?"

"C'mon Larx, everyone knows. We all see how you look at him… and know that's the real reason you hate his and Nami's friendship."

If I didn't know better, or at least wasn't disoriented beyond belief, I would say I'd gone too far.

"… I should write to someone, like "Committee of Makers of Holidays For-" wait! What did he say? Did he- … shit!"

"Wh.-How… you… you _knew_?"

"We_all_ know, Larxy-poo."

"Fuck you, Zexion! You think you're any better? I _saw_ the marks on his neck! Least I never tried to _eat_ him!"

"That was one time! _And_I was drunk off my ass! It doesn't count!"

"What, fucking him when _he's_ drunk is better? It's statutory _rape_, Zexion, he's fifteen!"

You know, it's kind of funny how that never even occurred to me. "Yeah, well, he's _almost_ sixteen!"

"Yeah, and you turn nineteen in a couple days, so it doesn't change anything!"

Wow, I was so hoping she'd forget that.

"You fuck him and I'll call the cops on you myself!" she hissed in a furious whisper, before turning on her heel and leaving.

I turn around to look for Demyx, no sense in not picking up where we left off, Larxene be damned, but he was gone.

Alcohol is seriously necessary.

* * *

_"I can't wait for you to shut me up, and make me hip, like, bad-ass!"_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Feel Good Hit of the Summer-Queens of the Stone Age**

I wander away from the door, shaking my head at the happy couple's…. Er, happiness. I head into the kitchen to put Sora's flowers in water, I did tell him I would after all. I bump into Leon on the way.

He raises an eyebrow, _Why do you have flowers?_

I gesture with a pointing thumb back the way I came, _Don't blame me, they're Sora's._

The eyebrow's up again, _And why does Sora have flowers?_

I shrug, _How the fuck should I know? _(Never mind the fact that I do know…)

He makes a "What can you do?"**(1)**face and says, with a smirk of pure evil, "Cabin Fever is on in fifteen minutes."

I feel my face move into a grin, an odd and scary happening if one cared to think about it. Hopefully one didn't.

It still must be admitted, there are bad movies, there are really bad movies, there are awful movies … and then there's Cabin Fever. Which takes the Really Awful Horror Movie Cake; because you know they have cake for that.

"Do you know what would make it even more interesting?" Leon asks, in a voice that sounds of impending doom.

I shrug noncommittally.

"My birthday present from Aerith."

And cue maniacal laughter.

* * *

_"I can't wait for you to shut me up, and make me hip, like, bad-ass!"_

* * *

**Sora BGM: Molly's Lips-Nirvana**

He said he'd come at seven. He was five minutes early. My Clueless-inspired ambitions to make him wait were replaced by the need to make him wait due to the fact was I wasn't actually dressed yet.

I feel like a stupid teenaged girl doing it, but that doesn't stop me from finding myself deliberating in front of the full-length mirror over what to wear.

"God damn it," I mutter futilely, my head thumping against the glass, "You're a stupid teenaged _boy_, So. Stupid teenaged boys are supposed to get drunk and their girlfriends pregnant, not spend half an hour dressing up for their_boyfriend_." Then again, if that was teenage normalcy, I've already shot it to shit… but that doesn't mean I should act like a… a…

Growling with impatience, I grab a black shirt I remember Riku had said he'd liked once and head to the door, wondering how long it had been since Leon had told me Riku was here.

But wait… what if I bore him by wearing the shirt too many times… I have to keep things new, interesting… And it's 7:10… shit.

I stare at the clock in disbelief for a moment or two, just to make sure I haven't read it wrong. It has happened in the past, even with digital clocks; don't ask…It was really, really, really late at night, okay? That is one of those things you just don't talk about… like the crazy uncle who lives in your attic. You have one, everyone has one, everyone knows you have one, you know everyone has one, you just don't talk about it… except for now… shit, woops**(2)**.

* * *

**(3)**Riku and I walk up the front steps, holding hands and giggling with after-date cheer. I place my hand on the knob and shove, my head dancing with images of me and Riku fooling around in my room, because really, is there a better way to end a date?

"Open Sesame, you stupid bitch!" a voice yells.

"Ha! You thought you were _so_ smart, didn't you? Heh, _now_ who's the dumb one, eh? NOT SO FUNNY MEOW, IS IT, BOY?!" Either I'm on crack, or that was totally Leon, it _sounded_like Leon.

"Oh! Come on, you little whore, I _know_ you can hear me!"

C-Cloud? What?

I glance uncertainly back at Riku and head into the house, not without a massive amount of terror and apprehension. Riku, ever polite, takes off his shoes at the door. His sneakers fall to the floor with a clunk.

"You laughed at me when I was looking for the keyhole, but you're no better, you little bas-did you hear that?"

That's definitely Leon. What the hell is going on here?

"Oooh! Spot check! Roll the d20 and add your modifier to see if you notice the killer!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You're not supposed to tell me what I'm looking for! And anyway, that'd be a _listen_ check!"

There are some things I really never needed to know about my brother. The fact that evidently he used to play D&D was one of them.

"Shut your fucking face, nancy boy! Least I don't think walls have keyholes!"

"At least I'm not a bad DM! HAH! Mr. "Open Sesame"! How lame is that?"

"Y-w-I-… Your mother!"

"… Dude, my mom's _dead_."

"Yeah, well, I guess that makes you a necrophiliac then, doesn't it

"Yeah, I guess it- Wait a minute! That's gross you pervert!"

Riku's going on ahead. There's no way I can let him die alone. We find Leon and Cloud yelling at each other red-faced in the living room; the TV blaring an infomercial for some kind of super-mattress, whatever the fuck that is.

"Guys, what the hell?" I say, it seemed the only thing _to_ say.

Leon turns to stare at me, "We're _trying_ to get to the buried treasure. I should think that would be obvious!"

Cloud jumps around as well, "Oh, Sora, perfect timing. You come over here, and transform into the main character from that stupid game you play; the one with the complete moron for a main character who fights with a giant lock pick to save the worlds from the Slightly Organized, But Not Really Committee Triple-X. You know the one with those cute little brainless guys that look kind of like beetles."

Other than the fact that that game is _not_ stupid, I was struck speechless.

"Cloud, are you high? That makes no sense."

The voice of reason was Leon, oddly enough.

"Listen, Squall, if anyone can open this door, it's that guy."

"Yeah, sure, or we could just use alchemy."

So much for the voice of reason.

"Damn it, Leon! Now is _not_the time to balance chemical equations!"

_Is_ there a time to balance chemical equations?

"That's Calculus, stupid. I'm talking about transmutation!"

"Oh… go get your Horadric Cube!"

"I-I don't have one!"

"Shit! What are we gonna do?"

"The same thing we do everyday, Pinky! TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!!!!"

"YES!!!"

"…"

"…"

I think… I think… I think I might cry.

"Now what?"

"I think we need a laser…"

I can't help but whistle. I haven't seen this much stupid in one place since I looked in the mirror… wait…

"What was that?!"

"BOMB!!! GET DOWN!!!" Cloud tackles Leon to the ground.

After a few explosion-less minutes they get up again.

Riku and I stand transfixed to the spot.

"I think we should go," I choke out finally.

Leon looks at me and snorts, "Yeah, whatever man, that's your prerog-preg-preger-"

"You're_pregnant_?" Cloud yells.

Leon looks around confused, as if Cloud was talking to someone else, but the blond's eyes are fixed on him, "I'm pregnant?"

"You're pregnant!"

"I'm pregnant!"

"Oh my god! Who's the father?"

I glance at Riku; he seems as confused as me. I switch back to the pair on the floor.

"-the only one here, so… unless it was Sora. But if it was Sora, it would have two heads, I don't think my baby has two heads," Leon reasons, his hand protectively over his flat and child-free abdomen.

"We're having a baby?"

"We're having a baby!"

"Oh my god!"

What the fuck?

Cloud dives at Leon and they hug happily, united by their supposed child.

"… I think I'm missing something," Riku says carefully, looking as if he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

"So, Bunny, what do you want to name it?"

Bunny? Since when does Leon call Cloud Bunny? Well, I suppose if you look at his hair right, it does _sort of_ look like bunny ears… or something.

"How about Cait Sith?"

"Cait Sith?"

"Yeah, I used to have a cat named that… "

"You can't name our baby after a cat!"

"Sorry, honey, you're right. What do you want to name it m'dear?"

"It's a bit like a train wreck when you think about it, I just can't look away," Riku continues.

"I-I… I think we should go now."

"Y-yeah… but on the other hand it's free entertainment and they might end up killing themselves by accident if we weren't here."

I can see the headlines now, "Teen Male Attempts Birth, Doctors Report Worst Cesarean Ever" or "Flapping Like Bird Still Doesn't Make You Fly, Evolution Blamed In Double-Accidental-Suicide" or maybe, ""The Couch Told Me He Was The Spawn of Satan" Claims Local Teen Murderer".

"True. Very, very true."

"You know," Cloud was saying, "You look pretty damned good for a pregnant chick."

Leon checks himself over, "Wow, huh. You're so right, Bun. I'm kind of flat though…"

Cloud hmm-ed thoughtfully, "Yeah, you're right. That's okay, Leon-baby, I love you anyway."

"Really?" Leon's smile could give you cavities, I'm sure.

Cloud nodded, with a sickly smile of his own, "Uh-huh."

They hug again.

I think I'm developing a facial tick from all this sap, "Ri, are you sure we can't go? This is really, _really_ scary."

He nods, biting his lip; in fear or indecision, I'll never know, "I know, So, but if we go… think what could happen…"

"But-but…_look_at them!"

"I know but-"

"Oh my god! I have a penis!"

We turn to stare at Leon, _What?_

* * *

_"I can't wait for you to shut me up, and make me hip, like, bad-ass!"_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: Sunspots-Nine Inch Nails**

I think I'm a tiny bit in love with Rikku. Or rather, that perfect heart-shape formed by the line from the curve of her hip down her narrow thighs. I can't help but stare.

And really, it's hardly my fault. The tight, shape-hugging mini-skirt she's wearing does nothing to distract one's attention from it. Rather it draws you in; all but forcing you to notice that perfect tapering line.

Do you know what the awesome thing about art is, you know, other than all those other awesome things? You're not perverted, you're_being observant_. That slight, and generally bull crap, distinction is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Observe.

"Sorry if you thought I was ogling her. I just want to draw her hair, it's very interesting."

Paine, seated on the couch next to me raises a shiny, slate eyebrow.

In some ways, Paine reminds me of Larxene and Zexion. They're all very… self-assured. Well, Paine and Larxene are. They both have that bitch-girl vibe going very well for them. But Paine is a bit like Zexion in that self-contained silence. Whoever she's like, I've spent enough time with Zex and Larx to not be intimidated by her cold silence. I've also spent enough time with them to know not to try and fill the silence with awkward chatter.

Awkward silences are preferred, thank you.

And really, it's not too bad, probably because she has hair sort of like Demyx's. The thought makes me smile; comparing the brooding slate-haired girl on my right to the bouncing blond back on the islands.

Oh yeah, and just as a side note. Paine's leather fetish could clearly kick Leon's leather fetish's ass; like complete obliteration; no chance, no mercy. I'm kind of wondering if there's some secret doraphilia cult at work here. 'Cause I distinctly remember Riku, boy-Riku of course, sporting a collar, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen any of them _not_ wearing leather boots. Not that those aren't common.

The midget brunet, Sora, that was his name, also might have been muttering to Riku about Cloud and "leather pants incident". I can't be sure because I was trying not to listen… which doesn't mean I wouldn't have listened if they had gone on to describe the incident itself, but they didn't, sounded pretty interesting though.

"I have to give you credit though, that's one of the more interesting excuses I've heard," her voice is dry and cynical and quiet, so you have to lean in to listen.

I smile, relaxing a little, "Mm, like what?"

She shrugs and the corner of her mouth tilts up in what has to be the singularly most mocking and smug half-smile I have ever seen, "Oh, you know…"

"I_am_ though, well, sort of. I draw a lot. And she _does_ have very interesting hair."

Rikku did indeed. An odd confection of beads, braids, a bandana, and a long, two foot flop on one side of her face. If you though about it, you'd suppose it would have to be ugly, but she pulled it off pretty damn well. And the eccentric adventitiousness of it suited her bubbly personality. _Oh god, you lock her, Sora and Demyx in a room together and they could blow up the world from sheer hyperactivity._ I shudder a little at the thought.

Paine's wry smile twists a little more, and she inclines her head in a way that is either mocking or an acknowledgement of the truth. "I'd like to see your sketches some time then, if you wouldn't mind showing me."

Wine-red eyes are _so_disconcerting.

I shift uncomfortably and pull the hem of my skirt down further to cover my legs, "Can I ask you a question?"

"The color of my eyes is real," a pause, "That is what you were going to ask, right?"

I shift uncomfortably again, and I'm suddenly hit by the insane and random realization that she's flirting with me.

* * *

_"I can't wait for you to shut me up, and make me hip, like, bad-ass!"_

* * *

**(1)**What can you do-hoo, with a brat like that always on your back? What can you do-hoo?

**(2)** Blondevil owns my soul, she came up with that... not mine.

**(3)** Because I'm not a complete bitch, there will be Riku/Sora dateness. But my head hurts and I want to go curl up somewhere for a decade or seven so it'll have to wait till next chapter, okay? I honestly meant to write it, but I also meant not to be a stupid fan-girl, we've all seen how well _that_ worked out.

* * *

And to conclude, this oh so exciting adventure in the realm of SSS_E_E, we do _not_ end with me being a mopey asshole! YAY!!! (Mostly because I woke up this morning (feeling inappropraitely hung over, considering I didn't drink yesterday...), reread this, and decided it was, surprisingly enough, _not_ total crap! Woot!

Evidently, I must revise my "sleep is for the weak" theorem, it doesn't seem to test well.

Oh yeah, chapter divider is **Shut Me Up** by **Mindless Self Indulgence**, seriously great song, y'all should all go listen. And the twenty million pop(ish) culture references in the C/L scene are not mine, but I'm too lazy to do individual disclaimers.

Review if you so desire, it would be most appreciated, I would love to know what you thought.


	11. Smashed

**Eh**, here it is next chapter. **Longer than usual** I might add. W00t. Funny thing is, I could've sworn I posted this yesterday. Weird.

Very much **not dedicated** to the lovely **writer formerly known as blondevil.** Despite the fact that it's her birthday(and I don't have a present yet) , she puts up with me (which says a lot) and is just generally awesome. It is **dedicated to her face**, because it's that **hideous**. Love you, darlin'!

Speaking of said **wench** above, the **divider belongs to her**. From a poem she may or may not have written with a very high fever and sent to me under the agreement that I would never show it to another living soul. Wait, no re-distribution. Woops.Ya got that, guys? **It is borrowed, with her permission, and this is what she gets for making me write this blurb**.

Thank you to everyone who was so very supportive and not-angry. I found it very comforting. It, in fact, motivated my lazy self to get to work on this monstrosity of a chapter. w00t.

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Loser-Beck**

Pining. Sucks.

I think I should just state that, for the good of the record. And now seems like as good a time as any to get it out of the way. So yeah, just so we're clear.

Pining. Sucks.

I'm pretty damned sure of this, as I sit rotting on my living room couch watching cartoons. Cartoons, god damn it, _cartoons_! Sweet infernal Ifrit, I didn't even watch cartoons when I was a fucking _child._ And now here I am, watching that damned Roadrunner paint tunnels on cliff faces. I've been watching the damned things for six _fucking_ hours; I'm actually starting to enjoy it!

I've decided it's a metaphor for my life. The coyote, see, that's me, 'cause I keep chasing after that damned fucking bird, who just keeps on running just out of my reach. Three guesses as to who the roadrunner is, in this drama of my life. (Oh, and just FYI, if you can't get in on the first I'll laugh so hard I'll cry.)

I really, really hate that damned bird.

"_Meep-meep!"_

Okay, that's it, "Meep _this,_ you cocky son of a bitch!" I yell, throwing a Cheerio-laden spoon at the offending glass screen. "Yeah, that's right! Take it like a man, you little fucker!"

"_Meep-meep!"_

"Oh, fuck you! You know what, you're right! I don't need you! I'm going out, to go have fun _without you! _How do you like that? I hope you and Nami-whore are real happy! Mazel-fucking-tov!"

I fling the half-empty, oh, sorry, _half-fucking-full_ cereal bowl to the ground and march proudly out the front door. I don't need no tunnel-painting-bird-bitch, not at all!

I get about half-way down the block before I realize that the looks I'm getting aren't awe at my new-found independence, but rather blank-shock at my lack of pants, or shirt… or shoes…

I _do_ have boxers and socks though, so semblance of modesty is prot-nevermind, _fuck it_. I half-consider the notion of just stripping right down to my birthday suit here in the middle of the street but think better of it; it's a tad chilly.

I lick my teeth suggestively at a group of passing elementary school kids and earn a few disgusted looks from parental-guardian types.

I walk for a bit, heading for the downtown sector, where there's always _somebody_ if you look hard enough. "Soy un perdedor. I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?" I sing whilst glaring at the passerby. Right now, I blame each and every single one of them for everything; _every single goddamned thing_. Yeah, I know. Real mature right? And totally logical.

But logic fucked me over. Logic said I should be able to tell my friends I'm fucking a guy and they wouldn't care. Logic said my supposed pseudo-boyfriend wouldn't be too much of a damned coward to admit it, like it's some sort of fucking sin.

So, logic be damned. I'm walking down the street in my underwear singing a song I don't even like, because I-hey, grocery store. Score!What? I'm hungry, jeez. Nothing wrong with a healthy appreciation for food.

Fifteen minutes later as I'm running down the street being chased by the grocery store security guards (who knew they even _had_ those?) with a bag of accidentally stolen Milanos. I figure that if logic and I had _not_ just broken up, I probably would have realized that walking essentially unclothed into a grocery store was not a good idea. But really, who'd've thought they'd take that "no shirt, no shoes, no service" bit so seriously.

(I kind of love how they don't mention pants or underwear on that thing.)

I make a hard right into a small, narrow alley of the sketchy "someone was killed here recently, and you're next" variety and duck behind a dumpster until the guards give up.

Or at least, that was the plan. In actual fact, I make a hard right into a small, narrow alley of the sketchy "someone was killed here recently, and you're next" variety and run straight into a brick wall.

Well, it wasn't a brick wall. It was Lexaeus, but the confusion was understandable. They're built along roughly the same lines.

I stare at Lex dazedly from the dirty alley floor and try to figure out if he always looked that much like a bear, or if he got bear-ier since I've been gone.

A male voice from behind Lex says something in British that sounds suspiciously like a question.

"Heh?" Oh, right, Luxord. Never could understand a single word from that crazy fuck.

Luxord is about 20, but he's been about 20 in all the years I've known him, a crazy orange fake-tan, short, white-blond hair and eyes that always seem to be mocking you.

Lexaeus just looks like what would happen if a wall and a bear made sweet, sweet love… with oddly spiked hair.

Luxord looks at me, smirks and says something British-y to Lex, who grunts picks me up over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing (which I don't. I'm skinny, but I'm no girl, merci _beaucoup_).

Riding on Lex's shoulder isn't exactly pleasant, especially seeing as how my face is level with his ass, but it beats running from the cops. I mean, even if they _did_ find me. They wouldn't do much of anything. _Nobody_ messes with Lexaeus. The guy's huge.

There isn't much I can do at this point, and my mind atrophies a little as I revert to angsting over Roxas. Part of me wonders what the fuck he's doing right now, but most of me just wishes I was there with him.

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: Frozen-Celldweller**

On foot, I wander around downtown Radiant Garden; which might not be such a good idea, given that I have negative sense of direction and no idea of the town's layout.

What I do have is a cell phone. So, if need be, I can just call my cousin; my stupid, stuffy, ass of a cousin. Granted I wasn't expecting us to become instant bosom-buddies or anything, mostly because I always found that term rather disturbing, but, I don't know, some familial… _something_, would have been nice.

I'm not thinking too good right now. I'm still dazed from Paine. We didn't do anything of course. _She_ is in a loving, committed relationship. _Her_ girlfriend isn't a hypocritical, cheating bitch. I bite back a wave of resentment and longing at the thought of Larxene. She's really not that bad, I just exaggerate. That whole… _thing_ with Demyx does disturb me though, I mean, they're practically cousins. I wonder if I did the right thing, telling Zexion, I needed to tell some one, and Larx and Dem were clearly out of the picture. Marluxia just didn't seem right, he was still relatively new to the group then, and this was our problem. Me and Zexion's, not Marluxia's.

I'm considering attempting to find my way to Leon's (yeah, right, pardon me if I don't hold my breath on that one) when I see someone vaguely familiar. At first I think it is Cloud; spiky blond hair and blue eyes, but it's… whatsisname, that guy with the redheaded porcupine… Roxanne?

It's not until he stares at me coldly that I realize I've been staring at him for a while.

"Can I help you with something?" The flippant quirk of his eyebrow and his tone tell me I better not answer that question seriously.

I ignore the warning. "Yeah, I need to get back to Leon's."

He gives me scathing once over, head to toes, toes to head, "Who're you then?" He remembers me; I see the recognition in his eyes.

I smile sweetly, "Oh, he hired me to service him tonight. I got the address, but I couldn't remember how to get there, and my pimp doesn't provide transport."

He holds still for a second, before busting into laughter. "Right, sure. I buy that."

I smile easily; he's not so bad once he's stops trying to be the Wicked Bitch of the West. "Honestly, I'm lost, and I'm trying to remember you're name."

"Roxas. Make any Roxy slash Roxanne slash Rocks-Ass comments and I'll make you wish you'd never been born." His eyes are only half-laughing, I take the warning to heart.

"Yeah, sure, _Roxas_." God, I missed bitchy people! Between Rinoa's sweetness, bubbly Rikku, stupid-stuffy-asses Leon and Cloud, I had been seriously craving some cold, honest bitchiness. Paine helped a little, but she was more like Zexion than anyone else. My longing for Larxene lessens a little.

"You want me to show you around? I'm bored off my ass today since Ax-since I don't have to work."

I smile, happy to have my boredom and lost-ness abated, "Sure."

**LA LIGNE**

We go to the arcade and shoot zombies. We get ice cream afterwards; we both like sea-salt the best. Mostly, we talk.

I don't know why, but I trust him, and I think he needed to talk as much as I did.

I tell him about the islands, more than I told Rinoa. I tell him about Zexion and Demyx's idiocy and the Marluxia complication. I mention Larxene, but I don't tell him everything. I _don't _tell him about her cheating, and her possessiveness. I don't tell him how unhealthy it is. I don't tell him how much I need it, crave it. Because it makes me like I'm needed. When she hurts me, when she uses me, when she loves me (and believe it or not, she does, in her own, complicated way). And being needed… it's almost like being loved.

I would do anything to make someone love me.

He tells me about Axel. I don't know why he does it, not really, he just does. He tells me about the fight they had, a fight partially about me, but mostly about coming out of the proverbial closet. (He doesn't tell my why he doesn't tell people about them, I don't ask.) I tell him I'm sorry but he just shrugs and says it's okay. They were never _really_ together. They just were. It was more about convenience than l-than anything else.

I don't believe him, but I don't mention it. Sometimes, people need to have their lies believed.

So, I share a little more about Larxene; still not quite everything, but more than before.

I still don't know why I'm being this honest. Generally, I keep this stuff to myself. (Except for the rare times when I go to Zexion's place, unable to stand anyone else and unable to take being alone. He never asks questions when I turn up at his door like a lost puppy. We talk sometimes. Mostly he reads and I draw and we listen to his music. He doesn't push. He just accepts.) I get the feeling Roxas isn't really the sharing type, either.

**LE FILS DE LA LIGNE**

He gives me a lift back to Leon's, when our talking is done and we're out of places to visit. It's awkward. Out words are suffocated and muffled in the cramped airless Toyota. We stop trying after a minute or two. The air is hot and heavy, altogether unpleasant to breathe.

Today's weather is honest with a sixty percent chance of maudlin.

He pulls in to Leon's driveway but doesn't cut the engine; the key lingers in the ignition, as awkward as we are.

I twist my hands gracelessly on my lap. "Well, uh, thanks for the ride, and, uh-"

He kisses me. I don't know why. There are a lot of "why"s I don't know. He told me about Axel, he knows about Larxene. I don't know why he does it, but I do know why I respond.

I'm sick of being used. Just once, I'd like to be the one using someone else. So I slide a hand into the short hairs at the back of his head and kiss him back.

With my eyes closed, I try to pretend he's a girl. It doesn't really work. He doesn't kiss like a girl; something about the way he does it is just so… _male_.

He pulls back to breathe and rests his forehead against mine, eyes mostly shut. "You don't kiss at all like him," he murmurs brokenly.

"No," I say softly, "I don't." I pause, "Why did you do it?"

"Because I hate being-" he stops and doesn't continue. A dozen options pop into my head. All of them are right. All of them are wrong.

"I know," I say and kiss him softly, a good-bye.

_Being with Axel._

I'm out of the car and am gone before anything else can be said.

_Being gay._

I close the door behind me and lean against it, eyes tightly shut against the truth.

I didn't ask him why he's never told anyone else about Axel because he didn't have to.

Eyes tight shut, I take a deep breath and try not to crumple. I don't open them until I'm under control, lied myself into submission.

Lies are so much better.

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Tainted Love-Soft Cell**

I laugh stupidly at something Xigbar just said. I have no fucking clue what he said, but it was damned funny.

"If light and darkness are eternal, then surely we nothings must be the same. Eternal!"

And this is the problem with getting stoned at Xigbar's place. Xemnas and his fucking rants. Nothing ruins a good mellow like some guy philosophizing bout he's eternally nothing or some bullshit like that.

That and watching the look on Saïx's face as he watches Xemnas go. He actually licks his fucking teeth. He's the only person I've seen do that in a non-sarcastic/joking fashion.

I grab the closest thing-a mostly full beer can- and chuck it at Xemnas' head. He just catches it, drinks some, and says, "One who knows nothing, can understand nothing," while staring at me with those freaky ass orange eyes of his.

Luxord, stretched out on the floor, staring at his hands in wonder, says something slow and beautiful in British. Then rolls over onto his side laughing.

He sounds like a donkey with lung cancer when he laughs; the image gets me to laughing, too. I laugh so hard I fall the damned couch and right on to Luxord who either doesn't care or doesn't even notice.

Then Xigbar appears out of nowhere and grabs my hand to pull me up, only to drop me on the couch.

"So, little fire-dude, you seem troubled."

Xigbar has that wonderful stoner voice that only comes from getting high _all the fucking time_. Listening to it is almost better than getting high yourself, _almost_.

But I don't want to talk about my fucking problems, the walls are dancing and I think the couch wants to cha-cha. Why the fuck would I want to think about Roxas? He's probably out having the time of his life with Nami-whore, that or pining miserably for me whilst I'm here wasting my life away in Xigbar's crack-den basement. Yeah, right. Roxas does not pine. Roxas does not angst. Now outwardly. He's probably having fun with his stuck-up homophobic private school friends, the ones I've never met. They wouldn't approve.

I introduced him to _my_ friends. Well, most of them, Leon, Aerith and Paine, etc.

Never did introduce him to this lot. I like having Xemnas' insanity and Xigbar's addictions my own, something they can never touch.

So, I just shrug and mutter, "Eh, Roxas is a douche, as per usual."

Xigbar laughs and claps me on the shoulder, then turns on the TV.

Cartoons. Fucking Cartoons.

Tom and Jerry this time, though. God, I hated that show as a kid. Just wanted to grab that stupid fucking mouse and shove him in the cat's mouth. I'm so high it's almost funny though.

I have no idea how many hours we waste like that before Xigbar stands up, tells us to follow and leads us all out to his shitty Mom-mobile minivan.

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

* * *

**Demyx BGM: Bouncing off the Walls Again-Sugarcult**

I'm subdued after my visit with Sexy. It went better than I thought it would, but it was still… awkward? Difficult? Tough? Painful As All Hell?? Yeah, you catch my drift.

Currently, I want nothing more than to go to my room and collapse on my bed, bury my face in my pillow and scream really, really, loud. Maybe I should turn some loud music on first…

On my way to the Fortress of Solitude (ie, place all my siblings don't go under pain of death by Larxene and a fork, a _sharp _fork) I see Larxene, bat-shit crazy little murderess-in-the-making that she is. Ya gotta love her.

"Hey, there," I lean casually in the open doorway.

She glances up from her book, (Larxene? Reading? Gasp!)(Actually, she reads frequently. Not as much as Sexy Smexy Zexy, but still more than me or Nami.) "Hey, howdy, hey," she replies listlessly.

"Aww, that's not my chipper little camper, c'mon, let's hear it again!" I say in my best school motivational speaker voice as I jump on her bed and land on my side staring at her with an unwavering shit-eating grin, the kind designed just to piss that girl of mine off.

Blank stares almost kill my enthusiasm.

Continued blank stares give it cancer.

Five more seconds and it's hit by a bus.

Two more and the doctors give up and pull the plug.

I roll onto my back and pull a loose string out of the hem of my t-shirt. "Hey, um, about last night… er, thanks."

She looks a little surprised, but doesn't let it show much. "You mean from saving you from your own personal rapist slash stalker?" she asks bitterly.

"Well, honestly, I really meant more from making a bad decision that I'd probably regret, but you're answer is okay."

She snorts out and angry little 'hmph' and turns back to her book.

I sigh and flop back completely, arms above my head, "Why do you hate him so much?"

"Zexion?" she doesn't look up from her book and doesn't even pretend to wait for my answer, "I don't hate him. He's just not good enough for you."

I frown, wait… "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dem, don't play dumb," she scolds quietly, eyes not moving on the page but not looking up either.

"I'm not!" I squeak indignantly, sitting up. "I honestly have no ide-"

"He _wants_ you, dumbass. I dunno, he might have deluded himself into fancying he's in love with you," she's bitter, I don't remember exactly what they said to each other last night, but I remember the anger, and the hurt.

"Lark, that's crazy talk."

"What do you call last night, then?"

I think for only a second before summoning my answer from this morning's vague half-remembrances, "Blind, drunken lust."

"And the night on the beach?"

I roll my eyes sarcastically, "See above."

"Dem, there were plenty of people at Rhapsody last night, he probably could have had most of them, some more attractive than you, but he chose you. That says something."

I roll my eyes again. "Not really. He could just like the familiarity."

"Then why didn't he go with Marly?"

I can't answer that, and Larxene knows it. "You're talking nonsense, darling," I say standing up and walking to the door.

I don't believe her, refuse to believer her, because then… because then…

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

**Random Apology Bonus Side Story Thing, Written In The Long Lost Third Person, How I Missed Thee…**

**BGM: If I Only Were A Goth-ThouShaltNot**

**Emo Kid-Adam and Andrew**

**This Is Halloween-Marilyn Manson**

**('cause one just isn't enough)**

And this is a story that takes place a very long time ago. Back when Zexion was just barely fourteen and still a kindergoth. Yeah, kindergoth, it's in the dictionary, look it up. **(1)**

Zexion was in a bad mood, but that was pretty standard. He was on his way to Larxene's house, which was not so standard. She didn't much like having friends over because the family she lived with made her feel like stabbing things. That was standard, the stabbing things bit. Larxene _liked_ stabbing things. Zexion didn't know much about her adoptive family, other than they were hyper and multitudinous. Also the matriarch was large and liked to cook, a lot, she liked to feed people too, a lot. Despite this, the assorted children were all skinny. (Actually, Zexion didn't know that, he just knew that she was an "overbearing, fucking bitch." Larxene had a way with words.)

Zexion hated walking, he hated a lot of things; he hated walking mostly because it was outside. The sun was outside too. The sun was bright on the tropical islands; tropical islands were not pleasant in his many layers of black. Besides that, the sun upset his vampire sensibilities. It was just _wrong_.

He walked slouched, in a manner that suggested he had been grievously wronged by the entire world, but would suffer in silence. It was a _noble_ slouch.

He stabbed the doorbell vengefully. The world had wronged him, and that doorbell was part of the world.

The door wasn't opening fast enough. His slouch increased. He shifted miserably in his shirt under his hoodie, all black and branded with the names of bands. They were _good_ bands. They _understood_ him. They understood his pain; his rage at the injustices of the world. They knew how his parents were only trying to make him miserable and he didn't have a future. They _knew_ him. His pain was their pain. He would lie stretched out on his bed in the dark, eyes tight shut, the music so loud it reverberated in his bones as he listened to the lyrics that so closely echoed his own heart. Yes, they were wonderful bands. They were _it_. As long as he had them, he would never, ever, need anything else.

But that didn't make him happy. Probably nothing could make him happy. He knew too much. He knew how the world sucked and it would never be right and good _so what was the fucking point?_ Zexion, was not a happy panda.

The door still wasn't opening. Zexion slouched deeper still. That slouch was getting _godly_. He wished he'd brought his CD player (this was before mp3 players were, you know, anywhere), then he could be saved by his sweet, sweet music. But instead he was left in the sweltering, baking heat of that cruel sun, unwanted and unloved. Just like always. Life can be such a cruel, cruel bitch. Zexion felt the weight of the world heavily upon his young, angsty shoulders.

The door swung open, _finally_. Zexion blinked. The person who opened the door was _young_. Slight baby fat on a face with huge blue eyes and a mop of unruly, almost curly, brown-ish hair (this was before bleach, and Mohawks, too). He had headphones on one ear, the other pushed against his cheek in a way that couldn't be comfortable. There was a guitar hanging from the strap around his neck.

"Err, hey?" his voice was young too. In the way of pre-pubescent boy sopranos who probably thought girls had cooties. (Well, let's face it, they do… _sexy_ cooties.)

"I'm here for Larxene," Zexion said in a voice that conveyed the message that he was an executioner here to chop off Larxene's head, rather than socialize… which was odd, considering _his _voice hadn't cracked yet either.

The boy blinked, "She isn't here right now, she'll be back in like… twenty minutes…"

"Fuck," Zexion muttered. Swearing was a recent discovery, an unexplored horizon of anger-venting and offense. It was _thrilling_.

The boy's eyes widened and Zexion's inner-asshole smirked evilly, this one really was _young_.

"Um, do you want to come inside and wait?" He was so awkward and uncertain that it would have been adorable if it wasn't so pathetic.

"No thanks. I'd rather go all the way back to my house, just in time to turn around and come back _here_."

"Oh," he blinked, "Well, uh, okay then."

Zexion rolled his eyes. (He's thinking of changing his hair, something uneven and surprising, his wannabe slob-hair isn't working. His hair was not made to pull of the just-rolled-out-of-bed look, no matter how much product he adds.) "That was sarcasm," Zexion would try to restrain his exasperation, but what would be the point of that?

The boy blinked again, "Oh." He stood aside so that Zexion can pass without saying another word. He led him awkwardly to what must be the family room. Comfortably worn couch, good, but not ridiculous, TV, armchairs of the squashy variety, a few stairs and it opens on to the kitchen with a wide view of the distant shore. Zexion is amused to note the amateur artwork and A+ papers stuck to the fridge.

"Um, you can just sit there," the boy said awkwardly, voice squeaking a little.

Zexion sat, adjusted, and slouched some more. That slouch was _vital_ to his image.

The boy fidgeted, bouncing up and down on socked feet. Clearly unsure as to whether Zexion could be left in the house alone, or if he should be a good host and stay. He took the latter; and sat on the couch, a carefully calculated distance that was neither too close nor too distant.

"I'm, uh, Demyx, by the way," the boy said awkwardly, trying to fill the silence.

"That's nice, but I don't really give a damn," Zexion says in a voice that, despite the venom, was oddly sweet.

"Oh. Um, what's, er, your name then?" The boy, Demyx's, tone conveyed the feeling that he was quite sure he was about to lose one or more limbs.

Zexion was silent for a second, then, because his sarcasm was failing him for the moment, finally answered, "Zexion."

Demyx tried to suppress a laugh and failed, resulting in an odd choking-meets-snorting sort of noise.

"Do you find something amusing?" Zexion asked coldly. If he had a quarter every time some one found his name amusing he could probably buy most of the Islands and a bit of the mainland as well. He silently put another mark in the "Why I Hate My Parents" column he mentally kept track of.

"Well, it's just, um," Demyx sounded awkward, "you-you do know what that sounds like, right?"

Zexion put on a rather good show of confusion.

"Well, it's just that, uh, the-it, well, your name-it sounds like, you know… sex. Well, the first syllable at least. Like um, Sexion, Sexy-on. Sexy. Sex. You-I mean, did-did you not, like, notice that? I mean your, parents, they-d-do they… know? 'Cause really-"

"You can shut up now," Zexion said coldly.

"Oh, er, right. It's just well, that's a really cool name. I mean, a little odd, but, wow, my name looks normal by comparison-"

"Do you have a point, or do you not even know what one is?" Zexion snapped impatiently.

"Not really, well, I know what one is, but, um yeah. I'll shut up now."

Zexion stayed silent and studied the family portraits on the wall. Larxene looked rather miserable in all of them. The one of when she was about five and dressed in a pink dress with her hair back in pigtails amused him immensely.

"So, um, you like Green Day, then, eh?" Demyx asked, searching desperately for something to say, and obviously landing on Zexion's Tee-Shirt.

Zexion gave him a disgusted look, "_Original _Green Day, thank you very much. Kerplunk and 1039 are so much better than the mainstream shit on Dookie."

Demyx licked his lips nervously, "Uh, right, yeah. Whatever you say."

Zexion remained silent after that impassioned silence.

"Um, what else do you like?"

Zexion heaved the heavy sigh of the burdened, "Rites of Spring, The Cure, Slipknot, Linkin Park, Hawthorne Heights, Dashboard Confessional, Joy Division, occasionally Op Ivy or Minor Threat. You know, _good_ music. Pretty Hate Machine is pretty chill, Downward Spiral isn't so great though." Zexion heaved an even heavier sigh, "And Demolition Lovers is the greatest love song of all time."**(2)**

Demyx laughed awkwardly, "It's kind of funny how I have pretty much no idea what you're talking about."

Zexion gave him a painfully scorn filled look, "No, you wouldn't, would you?"

Demyx tried to ignore the implied insult and shrugged, "I like the classics you know, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, The Scorpions, occasionally Deep Purple. You know, that stuff." Demyx had tried to imitate Zexion's casually superior tone and failed rather miserably.

"Yeah, sure," Zexion, ever the asshole, replied, "stupid, mass-produced garbage that's sold off by the government to all the dipshits dumb enough to buy it."

Demyx blinked, and still trying to befriend the dickhead on the couch next to him, added, "Nirvana's pretty good, too."

"Sure, if you like bull-shitted quasi-emotional songs sung by a guy who's never heard of enunciation and is too drugged-up to have any _actual_ emotion than sure, yeah, they're great."

Demyx blinked again. And then he stopped trying.

"Ok, listen, jerkface. I'm just trying to, you know, not be a complete and utter douchebag, which is _clearly_, a concept that _you_ are not aware of. So, why don't you _take your head out of your freaking butt_ and try not to be an arrogant jack-ass for, like, five seconds." Demyx was on a roll. He was generally a happy, genial person and had never encountered someone quite like Zexion before. Most of the people he knew were nice (outwardly, at least) and did not insult everything single thing they did not agreed with. Demyx had lived a rather sheltered life so far. (He was also very proud of himself for swearing, well, it felt like swearing, and it felt _good_, and so deliciously forbidden.) "And, oh yeah, _Green Day freaking sucks_! Had you ever even heard music by someone who actually knew how to play _more than two bloody chords_ on their guitar you would-"

"Demyx, stop pestering my friend of I'll rip your balls off and pin them to your door," snapped a wonderfully familiar voice behind the pair on the couch.

Demyx flushed and another voice, not as familiar, said, "Larxene, _language_! We've talked about this before!"

"Yu-huh," Larxene said in a voice that said she clearly did not care. "C'mon then, Z."

(In those days, Zexion went by Z, he thought it sounded mysterious, and anything was better than his given name.)

Zexion, who was feeling very shell-shocked, no one had ever talked to him quite like that before, leapt off the couch and headed up the stairs after Larxene.

"Bye, Zexy!" yelled an obnoxiously cheerful voice from the couch. (It would be a year or two before Zexy transformed into Sexy. It would be a painful amount of months before Zexion, who despite his intelligence, was something of a dumbass, realized that Demyx kind of had a point and found better music to angst to than early Green Day. And further realized that the reason he couldn't quite get the stupid brunet's words out of his head was due to the fact that he was, rather impressed. So, when the next time Zexion went to Larxene's house and the blond was again, out, Zexion was not completely infuriated to be stuck with Demyx. Demyx, on the other hand, still viewed Zexion as a stuck-up asshole with shit-tacular taste in music. An opinion which was rather justified. He hid it pretty well. Demyx believed in second chances. And third chances. And fourth chances. And fifth chances. And so on.)

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

* * *

**(1) **Actually, it isn't. I know because I just checked. (There used to be a massive rant here about stuff, most of which is boring and you've all heard it a million times or more. The only part I'm keeping is this, "because nothing says rebellion like pretending to be a bisexual Satanist," because I am blondevil's bitch.)

**(2) **I don't really know that much about emo/goth bands of the late nineties, which is approximately when this bit takes place. Added GD/Op Ivy/ MT because it's entirely possible he'd branch out into punk a little, not that Green Day is really all that punk. (Op Iv and Minor Threat are pretty good though. And popular enough that little Zexy _probably_ would have heard of them.) Nine Inch Nails are good enough they'd probably stick around, god knows they did with me (cough), and Demolition Lovers is off My Chemical Romance's first CD. This is about 5 years from 2007, hence 2002, which is when their first CD was released. (Joy Division recommneded by **BoyOrgy**.) (If you guys know any other appropriate bands, it'd be great if you could tell me, to increase accuracy.)

* * *

_"We were smashed love, it was just once. Yeah, just once, but how many more?"_

* * *

And wasn't that totally_ not_ worth waiting for? YAAAY!!

Random French in the Naminé section is "The Line" and "The Son of the Line". If there was another one, it would've been "The Line Rides Again." Sorry about that, my idea of funny.

Don't suppose you people know any good French industrial bands, 'cause I'm thinking that'd be pretty cool. Or really funny...

**You know you want to review,** because if you don't I'll... I'll... do something... bad... yeah.


	12. Morphine

So, hey guys, what's up?

Ahh, a few notes about this and other chapters (I think just the last one):

**1)** It's **short; really, really short.** But I wanted to post it, 'cause for some odd reason, it felt like it had been months since my last update. Heh, yeah. bad self.

**2) ****Not exactly beta-d,** in that way where the beta is off in California, quite possibly saving the world, because that is what she does.Question, if **anyone else is willing to beta** (do to the fact that my current one thinks saving the world is more important than fanfics, how weird is she), yeah, that'd be really cool... In return, you'd get my eternal love...and **chapter previews**, mostly chapter previews... Just mention it in a review or PM or something...

**3)** Last chapter's goal of not having Zexion for POV means this chapter is **chock full of Zexion**, again I say unto me, bad self.

**4) Sorry about that last chapter, that's all, just, sorry.**

**5)**... I love you people, please review?

* * *

_ "Cause I've waited for all my life, to be here with you tonight... I want a girl with lips like morphine, blow a kiss that leaves me gasping..."__  
_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Wait and Bleed-Slipknot**

The Father Figure's knock on my door comes conveniently right after I finish up with A) vomiting for all I'm worth and B) the subsequent mass-mouth-washing-and-tooth-brushing. He looks the way he always looks; balding and harassed and worried about something. I blink blearily at him from my position of leaning heavily on the frame of the bathroom door, preparing myself for the epic journey of crossing my room to get back to my bed so I can sleep for a few million years.

If I didn't know better, I'd say that the frightened look on his face is because he's afraid I'll toss him out on his ass, but I do know better. After studying me for a long moment he extends a hand holding a cup of a familiar looking liquid; the old family hangover cure.

I stare at it in loathing and dread (it tastes like shit to a degree that is truly impressive) for as long as I can, before gulping it hastily for the relief I know it'll bring. I suppress the urge to gag and pass the empty glass back to him, nodding my thanks. I stagger back over to and collapse on the bed, he doesn't leave though. He's just standing there, staring at me in that mournful, terrified way of his.

"Listen, son, we need to talk," he says finally. The words fill me with dread; those words have never, ever been followed by anything good. He pulls out the chair from the desk near the door and sits.

He stares at me for a long time as I sit silent, unwilling to start and willing the hangover cure to work its magic. _"God, please grant me patience… NOW!!"_

"Son, are you in a cult?" he bursts out finally.

I can't suppress the hoarse laughter that comes choking out of my sore throat, that was _so_ not what I was expecting, not that I was really expecting anything specific per se, just, you know, not that.

The extra-worried expression remains on his face though.

"No, Dad, I'm not in a cult."

"Oh. Then-is it drugs?!"

"No, Dad, I'm not on drugs."

"Then what is it? Zexion, I'm trying here. Honestly I am. With your mother being how she is- Listen, I give you a lot of freedom. I don't ask where you go all the time or who you're with. I don't complain when you play your Devil's Music loudly, but Son, are you sure you want to be hanging out with-with transvestites? That sort of person will- And you've never even had a girlfriend. Are you lonely, son? Is that it?"

I'm hoping the questions are rhetorical but he just stares at me.

I sigh heavily and deal with the questions in order, "It's not your fault, or Mom's. Mom is fine. I don't listen to Devil's Music-"

"It's in Satanese!!!"

"It's _German_, Dad. And what are you talking about; I don't even _know_ any transvestites."

"That person who brought you home last night, what do you call them?"

The question takes me a second, mostly 'cause my memory ends with heavy drinking after Demyx left and starts up again with waking up feeling like the poster child for bad hangovers. So I guess there's only one slightly sense making answer…

"Dad, Marluxia's a man; he just likes wearing tight pants."

"She-he-_they_ had pink hair!"

"There's no accounting for taste, Mar's just a tad eccentric." _That's a nice way of putting it._ He huffs and looks like he's about to continue, so I barrel on to cut him off. "I'm not lonely, and I definitely, _definitely_, don't want a girlfriend."

"Are you sure? That Larxene sure seems like a nice girl-"

I snort at the image of Larxene's face if she could hear this, not to mention the idea of Larxene being a nice girl. "No, Dad, just no."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Very."

He seems at a loss. "Then what's wrong? Are you sure it's not because of your mother being-being how she is-"

I sigh again and stare fixedly at the wall to my right, "Nothing's wrong, Dad. I just had a few too many to drink last night and Marluxia drove me home. It's not anyone's fault, especially yours or Mom's."

He nods and gets up to leave, then hesitates in the doorway, "She does love you, you know."

I nod and politely don't mention the fact that she doesn't even remember my name ninety percent of the time. He leaves.

With a groan I flop back on the bed and take a long steady breath, before flopping on to my stomach like a fish out of water and smacking the play button on my speaker set. I'd almost been lulled back to sleep with some lovely industrial in _Satanese _when I was yanked back to reality by another hesitant knock on the door.

I hate life.

I exhale sharply, because I've used the verb 'to sigh' rather frequently, and yell, "Sorry, I'm still not on drugs and I'm _quite_ sure that Ido _not_ want to date, Larxene, thank you very much!" _Please, god, let that be all._

"Oh. Well, that's comforting. I was getting a tad worried you know."

That voice is most definitely not my father's.

I flop back over, still in the manner of a reverse-drowning fish-Ah. _Shit._

I manage, somehow, to force my voice into a semblance of normality, "Demyx," I choke out, hating how very false my indifference sounds.

He closes the door behind him and leans on it, hands still clutching the knob.

"We need to talk," he says, joking frivolity gone.

I bite back a groan and it comes out as a whimper.

* * *

_ "Cause I've waited for all my life, to be here with you tonight... I want a girl with lips like morphine, blow a kiss that leaves me gasping..."_

* * *

**BGM: Sometimes It Hurts-Stabbing Westward**

Demyx takes a seat in the chair that my dad left pulled out from the desk and folds his hands primly in his lap, he glances at me, for a split-second our eyes meet, but then he twitches and looks away. After about five minutes of him studiously looking anywhere but at me while I, ever contrary, stare at him, just as studiously, he is the one to break.

He twitches again, a signal of his defeat, before wringing his hands in a matronly manner that I would normally find highly amusing.

"Listen, about last night, we need to talk-"

For some reason, that simple phrase makes me laugh hysterically. I lie on my back, my legs curled mostly up to my chest by the contracting action of the muscles of my stomach. I've been dreading this conversation for what feels like eternity, somehow, even before last night, I knew it would come down to this, eventually. But the complete lack of originality in the phrasing makes me laugh. Something I've been dreading for years is no more than a clichéd scene from a teenaged drama.

He's flabbergasted, jaw hanging open. "Er, sorry, am I missing something?" he breathes out when my laughter peters away to nothing.

I regain control of my face and wave a hand at him to continue.

"Listen, um… It's not-I- I like you a lot-er, as-as, a friend, and- I- well, I-Larxene woul-"

I sit up, suddenly serious, "What does _she _have to do with it?" I make no effort to hide the animosity in my voice. Memories of last night's run in with her are the clearest I have of the lot. Not that I was mad at her for interrupting us, she should be sainted for that (I have a feeling I'll change that opinion in the future, if things continue as they've been going), but after all, the whole _"You fuck him and I'll call the cops on you myself!" _line does inspire a certain amount of sheer hatred.

"She's-well, she's my _cousin_-well, not _actually_ but-She-She's right about it being illegal, you know."

"True enough, but not at all an answer to the question I asked."

He's wringing his hands again and cringing and I'd give anything to go over there to tell him that everything will be alright. But I don't. Because I can't spout that kind of unbelievable bull shit (well, not this early in the morning), and because-

"Zexion, we can't be together like that!" he burst out finally.

I feel quite remarkably as though I'd been simultaneously dunked in cold water, bitch-slapped across the face and punched in the gut… and maybe kneed in the groin a couple of times for good measure. I recover quickly and as carelessly as possible, as if I really couldn't give even half a damn on the subject, I make my reply.

"Listen, Dem, it really isn't an issue, mm'kay? I mean, neither of us was thinking too clearly, am I right? It was a one time fluke, not gonna happen again." I stand up and begin to pace, getting more into the lie as I go. The change in speech patterns is a blaring sign of falsehood in my ears but Demyx doesn't look like he's noticed. "I mean, yeah, sure, I'm gay, and you're, you know, er, _reasonably_ attractive, I mean, _in a certain light you might_- No matter, the point being, Demyx, I could simply never view you in such a way." His mouth is opening and closing like the fish I was imitating earlier and for some unfathomable reason something about my performance is putting me in mind of Gilderoy Lockhart. Yeah, weird. "I mean, ignoring the fact that you are, like, completely and totally _not_ my type, Demyx, we're _friends_, and friends simply don't-"

"You can stop now," he cuts me off quietly. "I feel enough like a moron already. Honestly, I didn't really think you did. Larxene's been hinting that you were, I dunno, _lusting after me_, or something for weeks, and I guess I just freaked out a little this morning when I remembered what almost-what we-when I remembered."

I fucking hate Larxene.

"So, we're good then?" my voice is painfully cheerful, as though we really are just friends clearing up a misunderstanding. It's an epic battle of will to keep my chest from heaving and my lips from locking in a rictus grin.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good. I'm- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume that you-I-I shouldn't have listened to Larxene." He's standing up but staring at the floor, and his jaw is clenched funny like his mouth is trying to move without his permission.

I lay my hands on his shoulders in a chummy sort of fashion and force him to meet my gaze, his blue-but-a-tiny-bit-green eyes unreadable, "Demyx, it's fine. I'll forgive you for today if you forgive me for yesterday."

He nods readily, and smiles plastically, looking away as soon as I finish speaking. "Right, well, I'm glad we cleared that up," he says in a voice that sounds like he wants it to sound like he agrees completely with the words it makes.

He nods again and slips past me to the door, closing it behind him as he leaves.

I wait till I hear his rushed good-byes with my father and the closing of the front door before I stop telling my body not to move and I find my fist slammed against the wall. _I'm shaking_, I realize, the thought hits me oddly, like that time Naminé got hit by a car and she said her first thought was, "Oh, shit, my paint brushes." I have to physically bite my lower lip so hard I almost break the skin to hold in the whimpered "What the fuck did I just do?"

* * *

_ "Cause I've waited for all my life, to be here with you tonight... I want a girl with lips like morphine, blow a kiss that leaves me gasping..."_

* * *

**BGM: Crashing-Gravity Kills**

I knock rapidly on the generically taupe door in front of me, my breath still coming in confused little shudders. There's a scuffle, a thud, and a muted "Hold on a second!" Then a tousle-haired Marluxia opens the door looking rather like he'd spent the last few hours wrestling a really angry warthog. Which makes next to no sense but my brain is still twitching miserably in my bedroom with Demyx.

He stares at me for a second before swinging the door open wide. He kicks it shut behind me and trails me into the kitchen, blinking blearily and scratching his matted hair. The dye is fading. Peering at his face, I could swear there are dark circles under his eyes.

"Dude, you look like shit."

The unfocused gaze is instantly much more fixed and angry. "Fuck you. What the hell do you want anyway?"

I shrug and find a cleanish mug in the drainer by the sink and dump coffee from the corner pot in it.

Mar's taken a seat at the kitchen island with his head in his hands, "Mommy, my head hurts…"

I was about to suggest he go and do some rude and physiologically impossible actions with himself when a voice from his bedroom calls out, "Who is it, babe?"

I shake my head as I take the mug from the microwave and dump in enough milk to make it Caucasian… if coffee had an ethnicity based on tone. I shove it at Marluxia and turn to face the approaching footsteps.

"Oh," the female voice is surprised, "it's _you_."

It's funny because I have no clue who the hell she is. "Well, _tomorrow_ I'll be him," I jerk my thumb at the miserable fool on the stool.

She shifts her weight and tightens the sheet around her body, "You're-you're from the car last night."

"Yes, I suppose I was." It fits with the father's transvestite theory. I slide a skillet off its hook above the stove.

"Couldn't add sugar, you lazy fuck?"

Well that's gratitude for you.

The girl shifts again, "I, uh, guess we'll be going then…" she trails off.

"We?"

A set of footsteps approaches, these belonging to an already dressed and coiffed blonde.

"And here I thought you could get no skankier," I murmur, digging eggs and butter out of the fridge.

"Do you have to be so loud?" Marluxia tilts his head so he can glare at me with one red-veined eye.

Still on auto-pilot, I raise my voice just enough to piss him off and say, "Well, actually-"

"Um hello?!" The blonde is much more assertive than the sheeted-one of indiscriminate hair color.

We swing to glare at her simultaneously. "Is there something you need, because you're not getting breakfast, or anything else for that matter," Marluxia snaps out whilst still trying to sound pitiful.

She hmphs and stomps toward the door on out. The other one follows, hopping as she pulls on her shoes as she goes. She must've dressed quickly 'cause her top's on inside out, she doesn't seem to notice.

"It's easy for you to be a bitch, you probably got to sleep in properly and woke to hordes of aspirin." He's just milking it now, the scratch is gone from his voice and his hair is smoother and shinier… somehow. Honestly, I've never seen the man get a single damned hangover that lasted for more than a minute or so, it's just not right.

My hands continue to cook automatically, "Well, _actually_," I sound so damn cheerful it hurts, "I got about half an hour of sleep before I was woken by the uncontrollable urge to vomit for hours. After _that_, I had to explain to my Father that I'm not in a cult and _you're_ not a transvestite. And _then_, Demyx came to visit." I grin hugely over my shoulder as he loses all pretense of discomfort.

He winces a little in sympathy. "Ah. Do I even want to know how that one went?"

"Well, first, he tells me that we could never be together, which, naturally, makes me go on a lovely tirade about how I could _never ever_ find him attractive, because he's my _friend_. And friends don't do that." I chuckle bitterly and roll my eyes, dumping the scrambled eggs on a plate and shoving it at him.

He snorts with laughter and stabs his fork at the food I made for him, "Dude, your life sucks."

"And you're an unfeeling bastard," I return easily, I'm feeling appropriately vindictive and a tad petty this morning. "So guess what? Larxene, darling little girl that she is, has _apparently_ been telling Demyx that I'm "lusting" after him or something. Don't know what I ever did to her, stupid bitch." I sit on the counter and kick my heels angrily at the cabinet beneath.

"Zex, you _are_ lusting after him. Not very subtly, I might add. As for Larxene, she thinks you're not good enough for him." He states it like he's obvious and holds out his empty mug like I'm supposed to fill it; this, I pointedly ignore.

"How do you know that?"

He shrugs, swallows a mouthful of egg and continues, "We've been hanging out, this shit comes up in conversation, you know how it goes."

"Why the hell are you voluntarily spending time with Larxene, that's like volunteering to get your nails ripped out or all the bones in your body broken one at a time, or-"

"She's not that bad, when you aren't lusting after her favorite boy toy."

"And here I thought she was a dyke," I mutter resentfully, feeling as though my brain capacity dropped to that of a six year old.

He frowns and pauses in his chewing, "Yeah, that's kinda weird…"

We both stare into space for a few minutes, trying to solve the mystery (Scooby-Doo, _where are you_?). Then, I for one, come to the conclusion that Larxene is female. And expecting a female to make sense is like expecting Demyx to paint a masterpiece or Naminé to run a six-minute mile; it's just not gonna happen. I shrug and yield to the inanity of the female mind.

I figure Marluxia came to a similar conclusion, 'cause he to shrugs and goes back to his food. It's silent for a while as I zone out, muttering lyrics under my breath and wait for him to finish eating, and ponder why the hell I came here. Watching him chug another cup of coffee, one he had to get up and pour for himself, I realize what's been seeming so out of place.

"So, what's up with you man? I didn't think a simple threesome could tire you out this much. I'm afraid you're losing you're touch, dearie."

He snorts and rolls his eyes, returning to his stool and plate. "Pfft, as if. They kept me up all night, damned bitches wouldn't shut up."

Ignoring the slight misogyny, "Huh, didn't know you were one for post-sex bonding. Whatever did you find to talk about?" _Wow, Marly sucks at making coffee_, I put the mug back on the counter mostly full and decide it can just stay that way.

"I'm _not_. If you must know, they were talking about _you_."

My look of confused horror seems to be question enough.

"They thought you were, what was it, oh yes, _simply adorable_, and so _sweet_."

"… the fuck?"

"Last night. You. Car. Babbled the whole way to your place; _Demyx this_ and D_emyx that_." He does a creepily accurate imitation of my voice and finishes off with a glare to peel paint. "I hold you entirely accountable."

"Can't help it if the ladies love me," I joke while rapidly calculating the odds of ever seeing either of those two ever again.

"So, you going to his game today?"

"Whose?"

Marluxia looks at me like I'm a moron, "_Demyx's_," he says it slowly like he's trying to make me understand a foreign language.

"Game?"

"Blitzball, it's the last game of the season."

I pretend to think about it for a second, "Yeah, or I could _not _be masochistic for once my life, I hear that's what the cool kids are doing these days. 'Sides, not like I _usually_ go to them."

"Ah, but it's traditional to go to the _last _one." I was so hoping he'd forget that. "And he'll think something is weird if you don't show. Something weird like, say, you lying your ass off this morning and Larxene being right all along."

I'm quite sure I can reason my way out of this, I'm just too damned lazy and wallowing in juvenile self-pity is incredibly tempting. "You hate me, don't you?"

He smiles wolfishly, "Nonsense, I just like watching you suffer. Well, you and the rest of the world. Besides, you know I'm right. And you deserve it."

I glare sullenly at him and am disgusted to feel a distinct pout on my mouth, "Whatever." I walk to his couch, it's a really, really nice couch (leather), and collapse on it. "I sleep, you shower."

"Hey, what about dishes?!" he calls indignantly.

I flap a hand at him and pull my headphones out of my pocket.

We arrived late at the sphere-pool. First I decided I needed a shower too, and then Marluxia was still deliberating over what pants to wear, and did these shoes _really_ go with this shirt. The debate ended when I threw some clothes at him and locked the bedroom door after shoving him out of it. It was really something of a waste of time, the going to the game I mean. Interrupting Marluxia's outfit dilemma's is medal worthy. I slept through most of it with my headphones on while Marluxia filed and buffed his nails. And he wonders why people question his heterosexuality. This children, is why we like the back row of bleachers.

Marluxia elbows me roughly when it finally ends after an hour or so of overtime following the unhealthily long match. "It was a close game and you might want to mention how great his last shot was," he murmurs discreetly in my ear as we troop out of the stands with the rest of the mob.

I drag my feet in the parking lot as the overhead sun saps what little energy I had. Keeping my head bowed so I don't have to squint in the barely post-noon glare, I'm really not so very surprised when I crash into someone. I just wish it wasn't Larxene.

She gives me a scathing glance then gives me what she clearly thinks of as a cold shoulder, and turns to talk to Marluxia. Marluxia, being a traitorous bastard, ignores my suffering and pauses so he can talk to Larxene. I'm wondering how long it it'll take me to die of heatstroke and ignoring the conversations and footsteps around us. My attention is captured however by footsteps halting near us and a choked little, "_Oh_" of surprise.

Demyx.

Well, Demyx and Tidus, but I really couldn't care less about Tidus at the moment. Demyx's stopped mid-step and glancing nervously between me and Larxene as though expecting us to whip out switchblades and start trying to kill each other. Honestly I don't really think anyone would be surprised, 'cept for maybe Tidus.

Demyx's frozen and twitching, the tension showing clearly in the taut tendons of his neck.

"Well, uh, I'll see you around," Tidus murmurs, reluctant to leave and glancing at each of us in turn, curiosity blatant in his bright blue eyes. He walks away, hideous yellow boots scuffing the pavement and a spare blitzball under one arm.

Now listen to the crickets chirp.

Marluxia swallows audibly and runs his hands through his hair in that way he only does when feeling awkward, so not very often.

"Let's go, Dem." That's Larxene of course, she lays hold of his elbow and I'm forcibly reminded of a vulture's talons.

They've just turned around when a voice calls out, "Hey, Larxene, let me ask you a question!"

It's not till she twists and stares at me incredulously that I realize the voice was mine. "Have you ever taken Naminé out on a date?" I have no idea where I'm going with this, seriously.

She looks at me like I'm a moron, "Uh, well, duh, you-"

I cut her off, "No, a _real_ date; where you go to a nice restaurant and you tell her how pretty she looks when you come to pick her up."

"What the hell's your point, f-"

"C'mon, Lark, let's just go! It doesn't matter!" There's a desperate almost-whine in Demyx's voice and now it's him tugging on _her_ arm. He looks so painfully his age. _She_ looks like she wants to fight but, oddly, consents to being lead away anyway.

I wait till they're far enough away that yelling is justified, yelling loud enough to be heard by ninety percent of the lingering spectators.

"My _point_," pause for emphasis, "is that maybe Demyx isn't the only one who deserves better!"

It's a tough call to say whose face turns redder. I guess the distinction is Demyx looks embarrassed while Larxene looks damn well ready to kill. Marluxia slaps himself in the forehead in that distinct "you are such a fucking moron why do I spend time with you, oh god, I swear, I've never met this guy before _in my life_!" fashion and starts muttering to himself, tugging urgently at _my_ elbow while Demyx is all but dragging Larxene toward her car. A quick sweeping glance tells me the masses look suitably amused by the drama and are directing mocking glances at Larxene; the handful or so of snickers and delightfully gratifying to hear.

Not quite time for a self-satisfied smile though, this next one is for Demyx, "_It's in your mind, no one can find; no one can hear the words I want to fear_!" Demyx looks confused and almost, _almost_ understanding, everyone else is just confused. Except for Marluxia who is tugging harder and muttering louder, the phrase "fucking moron" is repeated frequently.

In Marluxia's cute little girl-car, I finally let out the triumphant laugh that had been bubbling up in my throat since I'd seen Larxene's face. I slide my headphones back onto my head and wonder if Demyx will realize to Google™ it. Either way, I think I won. Hells yeah, I won… bitch.

_…the words I want to fear. I'm still sipping from your well; reflecting back to me.  
You're perfection in my eye. Hurt me, break me…_

And to think, I thought today would be boring. That poor boy will be so confused… **(1)**

* * *

_ "Cause I've waited for all my life, to be here with you tonight... I want a girl with lips like morphine, blow a kiss that leaves me gasping..."_

* * *

**(1) **If this makes no sense, and I'd be more than a little terrified if it _did_ make sense. Go back to chapter four, specifically, the second half of the Zexion bit. (For those of you to whom it might have already made sense to, congratulations.)

* * *

Uh, yeah, that's it... I think. 

I'll probably end up editing this properly later, but currently I'm lazy and my head hurts and POP is too damned wonderful... yeah, editing can just go screw itself, I mean that. Typos are for cool people...

**Divider **(is equal to) **Lips Like Morphine **by **Kill Hannah**. Good song.

Er, yeah, **next chap will** (hopefully) be A) **better**, B) **longer **and, finally and most importantly, C) **not entirely the same damned character**... Gah.


	13. Asphyxiated

Hello, lovelies, did you miss me?

Yes, I'm back, again, with another chapter. And guess what, there's more than one POV character, aren't you just so excited you can't stand it?

Argh. Whatever.

As always, Reviewers, I love you. If I don't show it enough (by updating) it's not because I don't. I just fail at life.

**Edited enough that it shouldn't make anyone's eyes burn. **If it does I'm very sorry.

Umm, yeah...

I'm forgetting something, aren't I?

* * *

_"I think I'm drowning; asphyxiated; I want to break this spell that you've created. You're something beautiful, a contradiction. I want to play the game, I want the friction."_

* * *

**Zexion** **BGM: Sparkle and Shine-Econoline Crush **

_In Marluxia's cute little girl-car, I finally let out the triumphant laugh that had been bubbling up in my throat since I'd seen Larxene's face. I slide my headphones back onto my head and wonder if Demyx will realize to Google™ it. Either way, I think I won. Hells yeah, I won… bitch._

…the words I want to fear. I'm still sipping from your well; reflecting back to me.  
You're perfection in my eye. Hurt me, break me…

_And to think, I thought today would be boring. That poor boy will be so __confused…_

"_You know, Zex, I really think you're going about this the wrong way," Marluxia remarks suddenly._

_I loll my head to look at him, "How do you mean?"_

_He slides a pair of sunglasses up his nose and then shifts lazily to third. "I mean, did you ever consider just going after him? Like, the normal way."_

"_You know, Mar, it's like you speak English, but with all the joys of me not having a clue what you're saying."_

_He sighs, "Despite your intelligence, you're really something of a dumbass, you know that? Like an idiot savant or something… Anyways, I _mean_, that in the normal way of things, when someone likes someone, instead of spontaneous maulings and cryptic messages after blitzball games- the hell was that by the way?- they do that whole… flowers and chocolate kind of thing, you know?"_

_I stare at him blankly. "An idiot savant is an retarded person with random mad skills in some odd, specific field. And I really think that buying Demyx a dozen red roses would not do me the least bit of good."_

"_I didn't mean it literally! I just meant, that instead of what you're doing you should try to-god, I don't know- seduce him or something."_

"_If I was like you and was interested in him purely for sex, sure, but, unlike you, I have slightly higher standards. Meaning I actually have some."_

"_Again, not literally! And I'll have you know I'm just fine with my love life as is, thanks. But, if I actually wanted someone, for like, longer than a day, I wouldn't sulk in my room about it. I'd try to make them like me."_

"_Yes, but if the person you were interested in happened to be straight and guarded by a maniacal, knife-happy, gorgon-harpy hybrid, and you knew, that regardless of the previously stated two factors, that they would never, ever return the sentiments, you would indeed 'sulk in your room'!"_

"_No, I wouldn't."_

"_Mar, you can't stand to lose at 3D ping-pong on the computer. Yes, you would. And then, you'd bitch at me about it whenever you got the chance, which at least I don't do! HAH!"_

_No sleep plus bad circumstances make Zexy talk-talk._

"_Oh, yes, because your silent sulking is SOOO much better."_

"_Your mother's better!"_

_Oh. Wow. See kiddies, this, this right here, is why I should be on the debate team._

"_Your idiotic retorts aside, how do you know he wouldn't like you? It's not like you ever tried! You were too busy angsting in your corner being all 'Ooh, I'm an angsty genius! Watch me suffer! No one will ever love me! Wah-wah-wah'!"_

"_What?!"_

_He squeaks to a jerky stop in front of my house, "You know I'm right."_

_I decide not to dignify that with a response and get out of the car. I'm walking by the father to the front door when Marluxia sticks his head out the window and yells, "Thanks for your support about the surgery! I'll see you at the next meeting!" He lets out a loud girlish giggle and drives off._

_The father straightens from the flower bed with a groan and massages his back. Eyeing me sternly he says, "Not a transvestite, eh? Not in a cult, eh?"_

* * *

_"I think I'm drowning; asphyxiated; I want to break this spell that you've created. You're something beautiful, a contradiction. I want to play the game, I want the friction."_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: Cartoon Heroes- Barbie Young**

So, it's about 1 am, here-time, and after spending like an hour _trying _to get to sleep, but, of course, I'm still functioning on home-time, and well, you've traveled. You know how that goes.

I end up in the kitchen with a bowl of some kind of chocolate-deliciousness ice cream. Life is good. (This is theeeeeeeeeee-denial song, denial song, denial song! This is theeeeeeee denial song. What. The. Hell. Are. You. Taaaaaalk. –iiiiing. Aaaaaa. -booouuuut?)

I glance up at the sound of footsteps. The owner of the noise-making feet is a fluff haired brunet who looks mostly asleep. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him.

"Erm, hi?" he asks uncertainly, like he's not quite sure if I'm here or not.

I swallow a suddenly leaden lump of ice cream. "Hi."

He blinks. I blink. It's silent and awkward and a clock is ticking way too loudly somewhere.

"Um, who are you?" he squeaks.

"Erm, Naminé."

"Ohh," he absorbs this for a second. "Who?"

Hello, awkward. We go way back. How you been?

"Um, C-Cloud's cousin."

"Cou-sin…" he repeats, then after another painful handful of seconds, "Ohh, _right_. I remember you now, sorry."

"No prob. So, um, who are _you_?"

He swallows thickly and I wonder why he's so very uncomfortable, this isn't _that_ bad, heh-heh, not. "Uh, Leon's brother. I live here."

"Ah…. Couldn't sleep?"

He nods shakily and takes an inching step back, like he wants to flee, then lurches forward as he changes his mind. "Nnng, no, it's early. I'm just hungry. No dinner."

I glance at the clock just to make sure, yeah, not early. "Um, why not?"

He pouts, "Because Cloud is the only one who can cook. Well, Riku can, but he's with his family. It's his mom's birthday."

"Mm," I nod, "Riku-that's the boyfriend?"

"I-er-what? How did you-You don't even remember my _name _but you remember that? The heck?"

I shrug innocently, "You guys were really obvious?" please let that make him not-mad.

He stares at me for a long while before shrugging, "Remind me in the morning and I'll care then. Too hungry at the moment."

I roll my eyes, "Honestly. _Everyone _should know how to cook at least _something_. Where do you keep the food?"

He looks around vaguely, biting his lip. "Well, I'm pretty sure it's somewhere around here…"

* * *

---- Tra la la… _Later _That Night----

* * *

Sora and I are midway through Miss Mary Mack and Linguini Alfredo (the only thing I know how to make, I live off the food Zexion's mom makes) when Leon and Cloud (well, just Cloud really, Leon has yet to make an appearance, though one can assume he's somewhere here abouts) make their triumphant return from… wherever they were. 

"Hey," Cloud mutters upon entry.

"Aloha," I giggle stupidly as I scoop up more linguini with my chopsticks.

"Yo," says Sora solemnly.

Cloud looks around for a second, "Where's Riku?"

Sora frowns, "I'm capable of existing without Riku, you know. _God_. He's off with his family celebrating his mom's birthday."

Cloud nods absently and pulls a Coke out of the fridge. "Wait… I though his mom was dead."

Sora stops eating and stares, "Um, no. W-T-F, man?"

"First off it's "what the fuck" you're in high school, you can say it. Then… who the hell is Emily?"

"I dunno. Who _is_ Emily?"

"That's what I just asked _you_, So, darling."

He rolls his eyes, "Fine, then what does the mysterious "Emily" have to do with anything, specifically, Riku's mom?"

"He named his car… I'm so freaking confused."

"Ooh, you insulted Speed Racer, didn't you? Never, ever insult Speed Racer."

"Speed Racer?"

"Mm-hmm. He just tells that story about his mom to guilt people who insult his car, a bit sick really."

"Why would you name your car Speed Racer?"

"Why would you name your car _Emily_? 'Sides, Speed Racer's awesome. _Here he comes, here comes Speed Racer_!" Sora sings.

"_He's a demon on wheels_!" I finish, just because I can. And 'cause I like Sora, more than my stupid cousin anyways.

"See," Sora gestures at me, "she gets it."

Cloud stares at us in… consternation! That's the word. And then walks away.

I stare mournfully at the pot of pasta on the counter between us, "I had to have an Emo for a cousin, didn't I?"

Sora nods consolingly and pats me on the shoulder, "It happens to best of us. My brother's one, too."

"Oh, God!" I fake a sob and lurch forward to hug him. He flings his arms around me and we're sobbing ridiculously over the pot when Leon enters.

He pauses a few feet into the doorway, glancing around. "Where's Riku?"

Sora goes from happy to psychotic like Larxene on prozac (damn if _that_ wasn't a good time)**(1)**. "Okay. I'm fully capable of existing without Riku for a few hours, maybe even more! Die, Leon, just die!"

"I only-"

"Die!" Sora commands, tossing a chopstick at his older brother like a knife.

Leon stares at the white Alfredo spot on his jacket in a daze for a moment, "Sora! What the hel-'

"Die, damn you! Freakin' vampire!" He tosses the other chopstick at Leon as well.

He doesn't even blink.

"Isn't alfredo sauce and chopsticks kind of a culture clash?"

"Why won't you die?" Sora half-sobs before attempting to steal _my_ chopsticks. Uh, yeah, don't thinks so.

"… I'll leave you to that then."

Sora shakes his head shamefully, "Damned Emos."

* * *

_"I think I'm drowning; asphyxiated; I want to break this spell that you've created. You're something beautiful, a contradiction. I want to play the game, I want the friction."_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Te Quiero Puta!-Rammstein **

The following is a charming tale of how Marluxia totally fucked me over. To his credit, he was unbiased in his fucking over. He fucked us _all_ over. Which really doesn't make me want to kill him any less, now does it? I think I took his assholery the most personally. Larxene was pissed. Demyx was squirm-a-licious. Me? I was betrayed; _am_ betrayed. I've no idea what I did to deserve this…

I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?

It started out innocently enough. I was hanging around, curled up on the couch, reading and semi-ignoring my psychotic younger sister. She's not really psychotic, she's actually quite… normal, if I believed in such a thing. But she's really not important, She leaves in, like, five minutes anyway. So we can pretend she never even existed. (Random Special Effect of Invisibility/Disappearing act… with a little _pop_.)

Anyhow, there I was, innocent and unsuspecting (and totally not moping I swear) when Marluxia comes strolling in, looking… happy. (Looking back, that really should've tipped me off. But it didn't, so it doesn't matter? (That fucking whore…))

"Why did I totally know you'd be moping?"

(… kill…. KILL!)

"'m not moping."

He tilted the book gripped in my hands, "_Interview with the Vampire_. You're moping."

(Still in book-land) "… why would you say that?"

"'Cause Louis' an angsty, whiny little shit and you know it," he replied in a "moron" tone.

I considered the notion for a second, "Fair enough. There a reason why you're here?"

"You woke me. It's called vengeance. Plus, I have a _fabulous_ idea."

(Big Clue #2, I am such a moron.)

"Can't say I care," I murmured as I turned a page.

"Gimme a chance… who's Vincent?"

I looked at him properly for the first time since he'd waltzed in. He was a holding a plate of nachos… Shit. Please no…

"Why do you ask?" I said, praying he wouldn't say what he was about to say.

"Your mom asked me to give these to Vincent. Nice lady, she likes my hair," he fluffed the hair in question.

God. Fucking. Damn. It.

"I guess I'm Vincent."

He frowned at me, "Your middle name is Vincent?"

"No."

He stared at me, waiting for an answer. I resign myself to the inevitable. "She's- a tad…. Loopy." He didn't seem to get it. "I mean, she shouldn't be, like-committed, she's not a danger… she just… can't remember who anyone other than the Father is and cooks all the time." I shrugged to show my indifference.

He stared at me and I was terrified he'd try to be comforting. He didn't, opting for the "Eat my nachos" route instead as makes himself at home on the couch next to me.

I wanted to go back to my book but the mood was ruined.

"So why are you here again?" I took a nacho just to have something to do.

He sighed dejectedly and studied his shoes, all dejected school boy. "Honestly, boredom."

"You couldn't go… oh, I dunno, club-hopping?"

"Truth to tell, it's getting boring."

Say what?

"I think I might want something a little more… long lasting…"

He stared at me.

And smiled sweetly.

Oh hell no. My terror must have showed on my face.

He laughed and the smile went back to its natural wolfishness. Marluxia isn't capable of smiling sweetly. "Sorry, darlin', just couldn't resist. No… it's not the length of the things. It's just- they're all so _boring_."

"Mar, they're one night stands. It doesn't matter if they're _interesting_."

"It's-It's like movies. If I'm going to sit through two and a half hours, I want to be watching something pretty. If I'm going to spend multiple hours with someone, and invariably end up at one of our places of residence, I want them to be, you know, non-vapid… or is it insipid..."

I studied him for a second, "You're just scarred from the two last night, aren't you?"

His lips twitched, "It was god-awful, you have no idea… And speaking of you," he rested his head on my knee (feet on the cushions, you know, you know), "_You_, my precious, are interesting _and _gorgeous." He smiled winningly, his teeth impossibly perfect.

That's where it got awkward.

"_Gollum, Gollum_," I hack briefly, to break the tension. We laughed a little, but without humor. "Speaking of which…" I pick a fraying thread form the holes in my jeans, "the other night… I kind of-"

"Completely, utterly, and shamelessly threw yourself at me; barely stopping short of ripping your own clothes off."

I fought back a flush and duck my head underneath the curtain of hair and wonder just when it was that I started acting like a fourteen year old girl at a frat party, "I suppose you could phrase it that way… so why didn't you?"

He grinned in a predatory way that made my stomach do a funny sort of flip.

His grin widened at my obvious discomfort, "Well, if you're a very good boy, I'll tell you." He should be in pornos.

My stomach felt sort of like it was trying to hide under my ribs and I pulled my legs closer to my body protectively as I tried to get my body to stop feeling ten degrees warmer than usual.

His grin widened but he turned away and the awkward heat diminished… but didn't fade.

"So, anyway," he clapped his hands, total mood change, "about my fantastic idea."

I bit back a groan and the air is easy to breathe again and we're all back in our normal roles. I smirked and leaned back, ready to be amused.

(If I had the option to kill him right now, I would.)

"I figured out what's wrong with us!" he beamed.

"Boredom, angst and hormones?" I tried hopefully.

He gave me the 'I'm being patient because you're a moron' look he's so fond of and flicked me in the forehead, "No, you fail. Nam left. Therefore! (pause for dramatic tension) The group dynamic is totally skewed."

I wasn't following.

"I'm not following."

"What we need to do, is get back Naminé!"

(It'd be really easy to just brain him with a heavy hardback…)

"Yes, and it will be so easy to kidnap her from a million miles away."

"Precisely! Which is why _we _are going to _her_! It's _brilliant_!"

"We're all broke, it's not like we can afford plane tickets."

"… who said anything about flying?"

…

"Oh, hell no, you've got to be joking," I shook my head in terror.

"Can we say 'Road Trip'? Yes, we can!" he grinned hugely. Someone needs to cut back his sugar intake.

"It's a month's drive."

(Seriously, now would be a great time.)

He scoffed. "Sure, for normal people. But, with a bit of creative problem solving, Lark and myself have discovered that by driving in shifts and not stopping for paltry things like meals and hotels, it can be done in a week! More, if we ignore certain laws regarding the limiting of speed."

"What made you think I'd agree to this?"

His grin turned evil, "Because we both know that you want to, mind, prob'ly not as much as you _don't _want to leave Lark and Dem alone for a week."

"What about you?"

"Zexy, _baby_, I'm _hardly_ chaperone material. Besides, I might turn a blind eye, purely to spite you."

"Don't call me Zexy. I'll get you back for this, bastard," I muttered bitterly.

"Sorry, babe, this is vengeance, 'member? Which makes us square."

(Never mind, I'm fucked.)

Whatever. "I'll get you back so utterly you will never be able to show your face to another human being. Every second of my misery will be turned back on you one hundred fold! You will-"

It's hard to talk with someone else's tongue in your mouth. Equally hard to think when said person is really, really good at whatever the fuck it is they're doing. So, I really don't I should be blamed for not finishing my sentence. He was cupping the back of my skull and all but locking me in place as pressed slowly but resolutely forward.

And as to the verification-lacking act of me and my wandering (clinging) hands and certain noises I may or may not have made-

But then it was gone and his face was pressed to the side of mine and his breath was blissfully searing as he whispered, "Two days, my house, 10 am sharp, bags packed. And the reason I didn't-and am not-" his hand trailed distinctly lower and listening to his words was as hard as ignoring them would be, "is all because _you_ didn't- and don't-" he paused to mutilate my ear and somehow my thigh ended up hooked over his hip as the one hand groped me fully (deliciously) through my jeans and the over ghosted up and down my spine as his teeth played hell with my nerve endings. And since when was I lying on my back as he pressed me into the couch? "… want me enough," he finished.

And then he really was gone, leaving me breathing way too fast with burning skin and one burning question, 'Just how the hell much do I have to want him?'

The best part being, he still hasn't reached his peak of assholery.

* * *

_"I think I'm drowning; asphyxiated; I want to break this spell that you've created. You're something beautiful, a contradiction. I want to play the game, I want the friction."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Blister in the Sun-Violent Femmes**

"Hey, Sora, I made food! Come down and eat!"

"Ehh, one sec, let me just-Eep!" There was a thump, a crash, and a muffled groan.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath and climb the rickety stairs up to that attic, which I'd really been hoping not do. "You alive?"

It's dusty up here. Most of the stuff is covered with white sheets, which is odd, 'cause I thought that was only something they do in weird movies.

There's another groan. "Mostly… I think." Sora's head is now visible as he sits up behind an old trunk. He rubs his head unhappily, "I'm pretty sure if this was a cartoon I'd be seeing little birds about now… stupid rocking chair."

"Sora, if this was a cartoon, about now I'd be pulling a hammer out of nowhere and whacking you in the head for being a moron. You do not stand on rocking chairs." _Also, our hair would be even more retarded, but we can ignore that._

He scowls at my approach and mutters, "Sure, you'd also have to wear a skanky French maid outfit when you cook and have lots of awkward little half-moments with Leon. _And_ your cousin would be a yaoi-fangirl tramp-ho who alternates between trying to set up you and Leon and seducing the pants off everyone… and then there'd be a cooking show for absolutely no reason, and a giant robot panda…. And rocket launchers!"

"Um, Sora, what the hell have you been watching lately? And besides, how do you know that stuff _isn't_ true? I was cooking like five minutes ago and you weren't there, how do you know I wasn't wearing a skanky costume?"

He shifts guiltily and fidgets, "Erm, nothing of import. Cloud, darling, neither you, nor Leon, are _nearly_ kinky enough to have little outfits hidden away. You guys are just _so _boring. It saddens me."

"So sorry we've failed you," I snap with a slight amount of anger, way to just kill my fun. "What are you doing up here, anyways?"

"I was looking for something, I can't remember exactly what it was, but I'm pretty sure it's up here somewhere."

"Well _that's_ not a vague description."

He gives me an impatient look and then exclaims suddenly, "I think it's in that trunk you're sitting on."

"How can you know where it is, if you don't even know what it is?" I mutter but get up anyway.

"See, Cloudo, that's your problem. You have no faith in people." He replies tartly, bending to peer into the trunk.

And cue sarcastic eyeroll, "Mm-hmm, right."

"You know, maybe if you'd just-hey, what's this?" Sora pulls his head out of the trunk and shakes the dust from his hair like a dog would shake out water. He pulls out a heavy, leather-bound tome-looking thing and flips through a few pages at random. At the angles he's got it at I can't see, but he starts to laugh in a way that makes the back of my neck prickle with unease.

He flips it closed and a mushroom cloud of dust sprays out, "Here, you might be interested in this."

I give his grin one last mistrustful glance before flipping open the dusty leather cover and thumbing through the glossily laminated pages at random.

It's me; me and Leon. The pictures aren't organized in the least. There's a shot of us building a sand castle right next to our first middle school dance (one massive round of torture if I recall correctly). And then we're toddlers, sleeping curled up together.

"Shit, I don't even remember half this stuff…" I mutter to myself as I peruse the faded memories.

Sora shrugs and keeps digging in the trunk, "Ah, lookit, another one…. And, oh yeah, another one."

I accept the volumes with a certain sense of dread making my stomach feel way too heavy.

"I remember Mom really liked taking pictures, she always had a camera," Sora's voice has that vague, soft, note to it that denotes half-remembered memories. He sits back on his heels and pushes his bangs off his forehead, "Funny, I'd forgotten that."

As I'm not entirely sure what you say to someone who's reminiscing about their dead mother, I just give a noncommittal grunt and keep looking at the pictures; wincing fondly at the picture of the two of us in tuxes, his cousin's birthday?

"Do you think it's a little odd that there are multiple albums focused on me and Leon?"

"Leon and I," Sora corrects absently, "And not really," he hauls out more, "For instance. These, are Leon and I, these two, are me and Riku, I think _this_ one is whole family shots, not too many of those, and this small one here, is entirely Mom and Dad. And _that one_," he points to one he already passed to me, "is just general pictures of us all as kids. You just happen to be in most of them."

"Why do you know that?"

"It's written on the covers, moron."

"Huh," I take the flat black album he offers and flip to see yellowed photos of Mr. and Mrs. Loire, smiling and happy and painfully young. "Do you remember them at all?"

Sora shrugs and sits next to me, leaning against another trunk. "Mmm, I remember a bit. I know Mom was always happy, and he was happy when he was with her. And when-when she died, he- he got… _old_; like he just didn't want to live anymore. And then we moved, but that didn't seem to help, so now he's always gone on business and Leon's stuck raising me." He sounds sad in the resigned way of someone who's simply accepted life as is. It's awkward and I want to say something comforting, but I was another much good at that. So, I ruffle his hair and grab an album at random.

It's Sora and Riku. They look like they're about seven in the newest photos, "I didn't know you knew Riku before you moved."

Sora nods, absently biting at his lower lip, "We were pen-pals for a while, he came to visit a bunch though; his mom was friends with mine. And then when we had to move, I may or may not have encouraged the idea of moving here because I knew he lived here."

"Oh," I say feeling stupid. It occurs to me that despite the fact that I've known him his entire life, I really don't know Sora very well.

"So," I say in what I hope is persuasive manner, "if I were to ask you what the hell happened the year you guys moved you would say…?"

"I would say that in relation to Leon, I haven't a damned clue. I asked once. He told me I was made of six kinds of stupid. Then he said I'd be six kinds of dead if I asked again. And _then_… well, I was six kinds of something else too, but I can't remember what."

"Weren't you there? Shouldn't you know?"

He shrugs and flips through the pages or the book in his hands, "Not _there_-there. Just there. I mean, Leon didn't exactly take me with him, you know?"

"Take you with him where?"

He blinks rapidly, "Whoa, he really didn't tell you anything did he?"

"Never asked, didn't want to pry."

"So asking me behind his back is better in your mind?"

"Well, when you phrase it like _that_."

Sora sighed heavily. "Okay, here's what I know. We moved. Leon was an angsty bitch, like, more so than usual, mind. Then we wake up one morning to find him gone. So Dad hires a PI or something and months later Dad leaves and comes back a few days later with a particularly miserable Leon in tow. Then we switched last names, and I still have no clue why."

I absorb this and compare it with what I'd already gathered or guessed, "Huh."

"Hey, Sora! Riku's here! I sent him to your room!" Leon's voice yells up the attic steps.

He stands and stretches, "Well, that's my cue to exit. See you around." he drags his fingers through my hair in passing and leaves, taking the pictures of him and Riku with him

I flip through the pages alone for a few moments, reminiscing vaguely, when creaky footsteps (heavier than Sora's) warn me of Leon's approach.

"First Sora disappears, then you disappear in search of him," Leon murmurs by way of explanation.

I have to crane my neck to look at him, "Check it. Sora found a bunch of pictures of us as kids."

His eyebrows quirk with interest as he bends to take Sora's vacated space on the dirty floor.

I flip a page and he taps at one of the photos with his fingernail, "Heh, I remember that," he smirks and shoves his hair behind his ear.

I glance at the picture in question. Grumpy, seaweed covered me? Check. "Yeah, me too. You pushed me in, you son of a bitch."

He laughs softly, "Don't be so grumpy, you got your revenge." He gestures at the picture below where I'm holding him under the water and laughing my young ass off over it. Aww, aren't I so gosh darn cute?

He shoves the same piece of hair back as I turn the next page.

"Oh, goddamn it," he mutters, "I don't suppose you happen to have a hair tie, do you?"

"Oh, yeah. It's in my purse right next to the lipstick and mascara."

He makes an incredibly polite face at me and starts fishing awkwardly in the non-existent pockets of his jeans. "… damned girl pants."

I have a funny feeling I wasn't supposed to hear that. All well.

"Girl pants?" I raise an eyebrow archly and smirk.

"Uh…" his mouth forms an awkward little 'o' of surprise, but then he grins broadly in that arrogant way he learned to fake so well somewhere down the line. "What? You think it's possible to find guy pants that fit this well?" He gestures expressively at his legs and the tight denim around them.

"I'm pretty sure guys aren't supposed to _want_ their pants to fit like that."

He shrugs insolently, "I happen to think my ass is perfectly attractive thanks."

"That's really not the point," I half-stutter as I try to stop the blood from rushing to my face.

He shrugs and clinches the procured elastic between his teeth as his hands drag his hair together at the back of his head. When the tie is out of his mouth and in his hair he grins like he's got the whole damned world in his pocket (which probably isn't possible in those pants), "And what is the point?"

…

That's actually quite a good question. Give me a second.

"You wear girl clothes."

"You know, it's funny you should say that, because I could swear I saw you wearing lip gloss and mascara the other day…"

"That's because your brother is the antichrist! Or maybe I decided he was just a minion… Well, at least I never thought I was pregnant."

For a second I almost think he's about to die, he goes so pale. And then he starts to laugh. It's infectious and I feel like we're seven years old and shoving each other under the scummy lake water all over again.

When he can speak again, "Fishnet top."

"That's skanky, not feminine."

"There are some who would argue that there isn't a difference."

I shake my head slowly, "You know, misogyny is really just not becoming in such a pretty girl as you." I grin like that middle aged aunt who tells you how much you've grown every time you see her and pinch his cheek. (To be fair, with his hair pulled back, he does look like a girl.)

He tackles me and starts tickling my sides 'cause he's a cheap son of a bitch and he knows I'm ticklish.

"Too far, Cloud, too far," he reprimands softly.

"Ahh, yes because… tickling… is just such a… _manly _form of attack," I gasp out as I try to catch his hands.

"I could pull your hair instead if you'd like." He leans forward to tug one of the spikes in question and his balance is off just enough for me flip us.

"Says the one who keeps hair ties in his pockets." Got to find that spot along the middle of his spine…. Hah!

"Yeek!" he chokes out in a gargly sort of voice as his hips jerk and his whole body goes beached whale. He's not the only one who can be cheap.

His knee in my side sends me skidding across the musty attic floor. "So not cool," he mutters, sitting up.

He stands up and offers me a hand as I lie breathless on the floor. "Truce?"

Moron.

I grab the backs of his knees and pull him down with a slight thud so he's sort of lying across me.

Of course, he was expecting this, so he immediately shoves my shoulders down and straddles my thighs, keeping my knees pressed down with his feet. (Who's the moron now, hmm?) He grins cockily, "Give up yet?"

* * *

_"I think I'm drowning; asphyxiated; I want to break this spell that you've created. You're something beautiful, a contradiction. I want to play the game, I want the friction."_

* * *

**(1) **Random Explanatory Note: If one suffers from bi-polar syndrome or similar taking something like prozac escalates the problem.

* * *

Weehoo, it's a chapter. 

Ah, yes. Divider is **Time is Running Out** by **Muse**. And **Te quiero puta!** is one of the best songs ever, if only because it makes me laugh, because it's in Spanish but sung by a German band and the lyrics are just totally amusing. So you should seriously acquire that one by your method of choice. (You should also get **Dr. Online **by **Zeromancer** which I have yet to find a way to incorporate... Anyway, that song kicks mad ass. (The beginning can be a tad annoying (according to some) but still, kickass.)

You should totally review. Because you know you want to. (Also there's those magical little alerts that tell you when someone faved your fic but didn't care enough to review. That hurts, it hurts real deep (sob). Ehh, not really, but you still should.)


	14. Pygmalion

H'okay, so-

Hey, it's under a month. I'm damn proud. I even like _most_ of this chapter. (Gasp!)

Mmms, yeah, I'm s'posed to be saying something now...

Right, reviewers, you own my soul. You should all keep on with that.

Yeah, I like ending notes better.

* * *

_"I dust away the plaster from off your breathing body. You're touching your autonomy; you'll never be the same… Sculpt your nature within, I am your Pygmalion. Go, now, into the world; Trial by fire."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: A Million Ways-Ok Go**

He grins cockily, "Give up yet?"

"Not on your life," the silly fool forgot to pin my arms. I jab him sharply in the side, where his tattoo is, and he yelps and jumps back a little, giving me a golden opportunity to flip us again.

"Who's the bitch now?" I grin down at him. Having remembered to secure his arms above his head, I'm feeling rather confident at the moment.

"You," he murmurs confidently before head butting me.

"Ah, fuck," I groan, clasping my forehead and rolling off him. I am only slightly mollified to hear him voicing similar complaints. "Did you actually think that would work?" I ask, rubbing my sore forehead.

"I feel so lied to, damned movies."

"Yeah, well, that's what you get for-oof."

He pinned me, the fucker.

"As I said, you're the bitch."

I glare up at him, though I'm not really that mad. "Well, at least I'm not a woman."

He snarls and sits back on my thighs, releasing my arms.

I sit up, propping myself up with one arm, "That whole head butting thing was totally uncalled for."

He grunts noncommittally and rolls his shoulders back. "'m tired…"

"Wear you out, did I?"

"Pfft, I could go for hours."

Really? Could you now?

It takes him a second to realize how it sounds; he glances at me, frowns and looks away before giving a discreet little cough.

I guess I'll let it slide.

He groans a little and lets his forehead thunk against mine and then just kinda leaves it there so his face is distorted and it looks like he's only got one eye.

"I'm way too fucking hot," he complains.

Leon, darling, do you listen to yourself speak? (And yes, yes, you are.)

"Maybe because you're wearing a leather jacket in the middle of summer… in an airless attic?"

"It's possible," he admits, still not sitting up.

I sigh a little and shove the jacket off his shoulder, "C'mon, arms back." He complies with another little groan and moves his head so it's resting on my collarbone. I finish sliding it off and toss it away, "Now, would you like me to cut your meat for you?"

"No, Mother, I can do it myself now." He sits up and stretches; all lean muscle and sinew in one of those white tank tops he favors.

"I'm so proud of you," I fake coo.

"So," he sits up with his forearms resting atop my shoulders; I can feel his fingers tapping arrhythmicaly against my spine, "who's the bitch again?"

"You. And your hair ties and girl-pants and _tickling_."

"Please, I could have _had_ you're ass a second ago."

Wow, uh, cough?

He opens his mouth but remains silent for a long second, "I think I should stop speaking."

Oh please don't. This is so entertaining.

I laugh, "Yeah, you might be right about that one… bitch."

"Yeah, you know I could totally kick your ass any day of the week," he murmurs, pressing his forehead into mine like some sort of slow motion head butt and forcing me slowly back.

I press my forehead right back against his, more thinking of not being the bitch than anything else, like how very close we are. "Yeah, you wish."

He hisses and pulls back, sitting up on his heels and staring down at me. His fingers snag the short hairs at the back of my head and jerk a little so my head is tilted back to stare up at him.

It feels like my ribs are being squeezed, why is it so damn hard to breathe?

Gravity pulls a front piece of his hair out from behind his ear and it hangs free in front of his face.

Without thinking I reach up and shove it back. His breath hitches and he swallows and _just keeps staring _at me. He's still panting a little from the fight and his eyes start to do that thing where they flit from eyes to what sure as hell seems like my mouth and back to my eyes then just sort of lock on to my mouth.

Suddenly I'm painfully aware of how his knees are on either side of my hips and my hand is resting behind one of his bent knees and we aren't touching but god I'm still so very _aware_ of every tiny detail, like the exact texture of the denim beneath my hand and his fingers in my hair.

I swear to god I was about to close the distance between us when Sora proved, once and for all, that he _is_ the fucking antichrist.

"Hey guys, if you're going to have sex, can you be a little quieter about it and stop thudding around up there?"

Leon's eyes go huge and his throat constricts like he's choking before he flings himself back and lands with a scuff and a thud a few feet away. I grit my teeth and swallow and force my voice to be normal when I shout back, "Sora, do you remember what I said about drugs and how _you shouldn't do them?!_"

Sora, I am going to kill you. It's going to take a very long time and it will be very unpleasant.

"Just be sure to use protection, mm'kay?"

I can't think of a reply; can't think of anything really.

So I stand and dust off the seat of my pants and offer a hand to Leon who's still looking a bit like someone just dropped a house on his sister. He accepts the hand, but drops it as soon as possible and brushes his hand off on the leg of his jeans without really thinking about it.

"There was food, right…?" he mutters vaguely as he skirts past me and down the rickety steps.

I stand there for a long moment, staring at nothing, contemplating all the ways in which my life could not suck.

Down in the kitchen, Sora can't help but notice the fixation with which Leon stares at his plate and the way I just stab at mine repeatedly.

"Cloud?" Sora asks tentatively, "Is-Should we be breaking out the maid outfits and rocket launchers?"

I stare bitterly at food on the end of my fork, and decide there's really very few ways this all could be worse. Sure, it's _possible_, but I'm not quite sure I care. "Yes, Sora, I do believe it is."

"Is-" I glare at him and he shuts up and seems to comprehend that I blame him entirely for the present situation. He mouths a "sorry" and ducks his head as he goes back to eating quietly.

* * *

After a dinner alike to those of the terminal cancer word, I sequestered myself in one of the never-used guest rooms with a book. The mere fact that I was reading said a very serious thing about my abused mental state.

I'd been there for about half an hour when Sora taps on the door and tells me that they're watching Sin City and do I want to come down.

My response being to pull the book closer to my face. And then he called me a coward.

I felt remarkably like Marty McFly as I follow Sora down the stairs and try not to meet anyone's (meaning Riku's or Leon's) gaze.

Something about the generally black and white film noir violence and sex was surprising therapeutic. (By the end Leon was half-leaning on me and Naminé, who'd appeared halfway through with black under her nails, was sleeping on my shoulder. I wondered when I became the group pillow.)

Afterward, when I was following Leon down an upstairs hall, not for the following so much as an odd, irreconcilable urge to continue reading the book, he stops and turns around so suddenly I almost crash into him and says, "You know you are so totally my bitch, right?"

At which point I can really only just stare at him and go, "Henh?"

He nods, grins, claps me on the shoulder than turns away, whistling, to his room. I stand there numb until the muting of his whistling by the closing door jars to me to awake… ness.

* * *

_"I dust away the plaster from off your breathing body. You're touching your autonomy; you'll never be the same… Sculpt your nature within, I am your Pygmalion. Go, now, into the world; Trial by fire."_

* * *

**Demyx BGM: Paradise City- Guns n' Roses**

Have you ever heard anything so beautiful you want to cry? Like really, really want to cry. Or I dunno maybe you've heard something so beautiful you _have_ cried. Like I said, I dunno. It doesn't really matter.

Anyway, that's what Zexion's voice is like. Beautiful.

Sure, he can't do anything harsh. He can't even do Enter Sandman, not really. But he can _sing_ And that's worth anything, everything.

I can still remember with perfect crystalline clarity the moment when I realized, like _realized_.

I was sitting hunched in those generic middle school auditorium seats, waiting for the orchestra to finish. Middle School orchestras, do I even need to go there? To clear up some, well, one really, question(s), I was there, with my family, for Larxene, who played the flute. Yeah, that never really made sense to me either.

Anyway, after a masterful butchering of some Bach and the score from some nameless opera they finally finished and the chorus kids came out.

This was back in middle school remember, when all the kids had to take a music class. Middle school, what can I say?

… the chorus kids came out, all in black and white. The special kids, the golden ones, chosen to sing the solos came forward to their microphones in front of the risers where everyone else stood, awkward and sweating under the stage lights. The solo kids, the same ones it's been since ever. I scanned the row for my favorite, even singing the sap-laden school sanctioned songs, he sounded… amazing, standing out more than the chorus teacher would really like, judging by the sharp looks she always sent him when he sounded too good.

And then I realized.

It was _him_. That asshole with the name that made me giggle, Zex something. This all but killed me mentally. The same kid I'd had some odd fixated… I dunno, _infatuation_ with was the one who was such an… _arschloch _the other day.

I mean, this kid who I'd been all but stalking since I was five- Okay, not stalking so much as actually looking forward to the school concerts because they gave me an excuse to hear him sing. It was… a bit of a mind fuck.

So the next time he came by, I was fully prepared to make nice. Not friends, just nice. Because to my eleven-year-old brain, being nice would lead to being able to hear him sing… it made sense somehow at the time. Yes, he was a jerk with bad taste in music, but well, it made sense at the time, like I said.

I probably would've anyway, made nice I mean. There'd been enough time between the two meetings for me to forgive, though I doubt I'll ever forget. For one thing, can we say blackmail?

I didn't expect friends though. The guy was a total dick, _no one_'s that much of a groupie, you know? But he'd- I dunno, managed to pull his head out of his ass or something.

And then-

And then, we became friends, somehow. Sometimes I still marvel over that one a little. But there was-is- still always, okay not always-

_Sometimes_ I'll forget myself and get- _bushwhacked_by his voice. Fingers numb around the neck of my guitar, mouth open unable to speak. He never really noticed, not yet. He's just… like that.

I guess, there's sort of a hero worship thing going on there. Not really I mean, just a little; just this slight little feeling of "whoa" sometimes.

And then we almost had sex.

Which confused me more than a little. Af-The next day, he tells me that- that we couldn't be together. It hurt a little I guess, even though I'd just told him the same thing. I mean I hadn't- I'd never-

I guess flat-out rejection is bound to hurt some, no matter the circumstances.

Prior to, he'd always been rather sexless to me. In the no-libido way, not the no-gender way. I mean, he's a guy. I've always known that. Not the no-sex-appeal way either, I mean I don't-and he doesn't- but, um, he's not a bad looking guy alright? You know, if you're into that.

He'd always been asexual to me. It had been safer that way.

He was… mine, in a friend kind of way. Like, he'd always be there or some sentimental shit like that.

I mean, we're best friends, or close enough that it doesn't really quite matter. Naminé's great and all but-

No divided loyalties. He'd always be mine. I could date, sure, but he couldn't. He'd just… wait for me, until I needed him.

That sounds terrible, like he's some toy I keep in the back of my closet or something.

It isn't that far fetched though. The guy's nineteen and never been in a real relationship that I know of, and I would know.

But now-

Now I'm watching him… with Marluxia- god, _Marluxia_ of all people- and I'm just wondering, how exactly should I be feeling right now??

* * *

_"I dust away the plaster from off your breathing body. You're touching your autonomy; you'll never be the same… Sculpt your nature within, I am your Pygmalion. Go, now, into the world; Trial by fire."_

* * *

**Namin****é BGM: Voodoo-Godsmack**

So out of a lack of anything else to do, I decide to tattoo myself. Not permanently mind, if I ignore it in the shower it'll last about a month, tops. It gets pretty patchy towards the end, but then you can just scrub it off.

Riku isn't busy with family today so he's over and Cloud and Leon _might _be in the attic, what precisely they're doing up there, I have no idea. The point being, my current housemates are all busy and I'm too lazy too call someone, leaving me all by my lonesome. Hence the tattooing. Logical, I know. To add to the logic, or lack thereof, I light candles. Because pyromania is a good thing, as are scented candles, but lighting peoples' houses on fire is frowned upon.

Anyhow, I'm halfway through embellishing this vine and flower motif thing that crawls up my left calf when the door opens, after a knock too quiet to hear over the music.

It's Roxas.

"Well, hey," I say casually, trying not to betray the nervousness that pricks it's way along my spine.

"Hey."

"Um, something I can do for you?" I ask awkwardly, kind of wanting him to leave.

He doesn't answer and instead walks over to the bed and falls over face down on top of it. "I'm very dead inside," he says at last.

"Er, I'm very sorry to hear that."

Again, he doesn't answer. He turns about and grabs my leg, the drawn on one, and studies the inks intently for a second.

"That's pretty ninja," he says at last.

I'm pretty sure that ninja is a noun and not an adjective and, if it was a adjective, would not be remotely applicable. Unless you count that scene in Fumoffu with the leaves-Does Sousuke count as a ninja?

Ignoring my hamster like attention span, I can't think of a single thing to say other than, 'Huh.' So I don't say anything. How's it go, if you don't have anything useful to say, don't say anything at all?

"Would you want to draw something like that on me?" he asks, there's an odd note in his voice, like he's afraid I'll say no.

I shrug, apathetic, "Sure, what do you want?"

He thinks it over for a second, "Something morbid and stupid."

I ponder it for a couple seconds before an idea slaps me in the face like a just caught salmon. And wow that's an odd image.

"Black Death?" I suggest, lips quirking.

His eyebrows twitch and he starts to smile a little, "Sure."

"Where do you want it?" I ask and then consider the various ways that question could be taken out of context.

"Back?"

"Dude, your body."

"Back."

"How long do you want it to last?"

"Hmm?"

"Just until a shower, about a month and I could _try_ permanent but I haven't tested it before. So if you really, really loved me, you'd b my guinea pig," I smile winningly, already knowing he'll say no.

"Yeah, I think I'll take the month one."

"Alrighty then," I murmur, reaching to tug over the ink dish and calligraphy pen. What? It works.

"Er, should I take my shirt off?" he twists his head to look at me.

I glance up and flush, "Probably. Lyrics or no lyrics?"

"Lyrics?" He crinkles his forehead adorably.

I sigh, "There's this stupid song Zex likes. Sadly, I've heard it enough I actually know the words." _I think._

"How's it go?"

"Schwarzer Tod, komm und lieb mich? Then there's some stuff about fires and caressing my pale skin… Du weckst das Feuer in mir… for deiner Fratze hab ich keine Angst." No response. "Sorry, I know my German's terrible."

He swallows, "Better than Axel's." He attempts a laugh. "You wake the fire in me… I'm not scared at all… schwarzer Tod, umarm mich. I think that's pretty much all the German." **(1)**

Well I feel a tad pwned.

He plucks at the comforter in front of his crossed legs, "Yeah, heh, Axel likes that song."

"Oh, um, do you not want to do it then?"

He stares straight ahead and bites his lip, before shaking his head decisively, "Nah, I like this idea. That'd be a terrible reason to change."

It's hard to describe in words, the kind of thing that'd work better in a movie. All close-ups of my hands trying not to touch him while still doing their job. The ink shines wetly before it is absorbed. Bending over to add in details my hair falls on to his back. His skin looks like molten gold in the candlelight. My hands on his skin.

It's awkward, but comfortable. And it probably takes hours but it feels like a few minutes. We don't actually speak again till I'm pouring the ink down the sink and watching the black explode to fill the whole sink. Osmosis times ten.

He's twisting his head awkwardly over one shoulder to try and get a look at his back in the mirror, "That… is pretty fucking hot."

I glance up from my black hands and meet his eyes in the mirror, before scanning over the reflection of the design. Not so much a design as a bunch of semi-related images and scrawled lyrics. Clawing hands, a couple of ghoulish figures chilling with chains around their necks, a rapturous face of sheer ecstasy, all framed in chains and thorns.

Art is crack in a get-away-with-able form. Sometimes.

I smile, "Just don't actively wash it in the shower, and I'd avoid water until a few hours have passed. Not necessary but it's good form."

"Right," he's studying his topless front in the mirror (and clearly finding himself wanting) as I industriously clean the already sparkling bowl.

"You should make up with him."

I'd meant to work that subtly into the conversation. Not just sort of drop it like a boulder into still water.

When I dare to glance up he's gone and I can barely make out the click of the door shutting under the music.

* * *

_"I dust away the plaster from off your breathing body. You're touching your autonomy; you'll never be the same… Sculpt your nature within, I am your Pygmalion. Go, now, into the world; Trial by fire."_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Chrome Bitch-Zeromancer**

I shouldn't have gone. I mean I really, really shouldn't have gone. I knew it at the time even. But two days later saw me knocking on Marluxia's door at 9:55 am, packed bags in hand and praying there would be no answer.

Naturally, the door was swung open almost immediately by a terrifyingly triumphant looking Marluxia.

"Ah, the last one finally makes it," he mocked joyously.

"I'm five minutes early," I muttered defensively.

"They were ten," he jerked a thumb toward a bleary-eyed Demyx and a half-dozing Larxene. No one really had anything to say after that and we were all busy pointedly ignoring the others gazes. I was still (rightfully) mad at Marly for forcing me into this and then molesting me. Demyx was still acting like a rabbit in hunting season and Larxene was, well, Larxene.

So to ease the tension, Marluxia clapped his hands together like a kindergarten teacher, "Well, we might as well get started."

So we all trooped out to the back of the apartment complex (ie, the parking lot) where we were greeted by the sight of a baby pink minivan.

"It's so… pink," grumbled Larxene, proving that she was, in fact, awake. Dem and I grunted our assent and squinted in the early morning sun.

"Yeah, I got it from my old job. For some reason they didn't want it back," Marluxia scratched the back of his head. "Anyway, she's got space and she goes pretty fast, so quit y'ur bitchin'."

"But-it's so… so…" Larxene trailed off, unable to articulate her horror.

"Pink," Dem and I finished for her in unison. We glanced at each other then hastily looked away. This was apparently the time to act like kindergarteners, which does explain Marly's hand-clapping routine. (Kindergarten, the garden of children.)

"Now really, here I am, generously providing transport and all you can do is grumble and gripe? Shame, shame. You should all be happy." In the dictionary, next to the word "Sadist" there is a picture of Marluxia. This is a fact, I guarantee you.

He turned to me, "Especially _you_, Zexy-baby, Shiva runs on _happy faces_!"

"You can't name a-Do you _want_ me to ki-"

And then he did that whole "shut him up with my mouth routine" which was seriously getting old.

Confliction's a bitch. And with one hand pulling him closer while the other hand shoved him away I really wasn't getting much in the way of anything done; especially with the lack of resistance of my mouth and erm, mouthly region. It was when one hand brushed across my cheek in a way that nothing to do with sex and everything to do with l-affection that I came to my senses and jerked back.

And then I noticed out rapt audience.

Larxene looked sickened and pissed and Demyx had this funny, constipated sort of look on his face like he was trying to shatter his teeth by clenching his jaw.

I glance at Mar and my stomach turned in a way more related to nausea than lust. (Well, that might be a lie.) "I hate you," I murmured petulantly (and uselessly). He just smiled and licked my nose. Eww. I really hope that was just to freak me and the others out, 'cause if not…

Smirking with triumph he turned to face the others and clapped his hands together again and announced, "Right, so, since Demyx is both fifteen and unable to drive, though it's an automatic so not that hard, the driving will be divided between Lark and Zex. And if you want to get there in under a month you won't stop in hotels to sleep and will instead, take advantage of the ample seating.

"Questions?"

"Yeah, one. What about Your Royal Highness, King of the Ass-Fucks and Mothe-?"

He shushes me with two fingers to my lips and had the audacity to look surprised, "Me? I'm not going with you, I'm flying out in a few days; I should arrive at about the same time though." I swiped his hand away.

"But-you… That's it, _Liam Raux_, you're going to die," I say in a malevolent whisper as I start toward him with a vague plan in mind involving my hands and his throat.

He blanched unbecomingly at the use of his real name and hastily tells Dem and Lark to start packing the luggage in the trunk before I could make my move and loops his arm around me to lead me away. I absently grabbed a bag of mine that I thought had the books and CD's and consent to being lead off. "Listen, Mar, I know you get off on fucking with people but this is way over the line."

"Hey, will you two excuse us for just a sec, you know, private good-byes and such?" he called over his shoulder to the two shoving bags in the trunk. There was a particularly loud thump from an overly zealous throw of Demyx's but other than that no response.

He gripped my upper arm harder than was really necessary and dragged me over to behind a pillar. Honestly, the only reason I didn't punch him on the way is because I know there's no way I could take him in a fight.

"Touch me and I'll sneak into your bedroom one night and castrate you," I assured him rapidly before anything else could be said.

He smirked and rolled his eyes, "Relax, babe, I won't steal your precious virtue."

"You're a tad la-" I stopped my indignant protest when I remembered how very much I hated him in that moment.

"Really? Who?" he shook his head, "That's besides the point."

"And what, pray tell, _is _the point?" I hissed, considering the possibilities of stabbing his eyes out with my thumbs.

"The_ point_," he grinned slowly like a snake about to kill some innocent little something and presses his forehead to mine in a way that was far too familiar for comfort at the moment, "is _Demyx_."

"You are so very full of crack I could probably make a fortune selling your blood on the black market."

He tilted his head back and smirked at me, "Didn't you see his face?" Hands braced against the pillar on either side of my head.

"Constipated."

Marluxia shook his head and dropped his hands to his sides, "Zexion, Zexion. That is what most people would call the look of jealously."

I didn't even bother to try repressing my snort of disbelief. "Yes, I'm sure he'd just _love _to be molested by you."

Now he was just laughing at me. "Somehow I doubt that. I _don't _doubt, however, that he'd like to engage in long bouts of-ahh- tonsil hockey with you."

I laughed, couldn't help it. "Yeah, right. Sure, Mar. You really are one crazy son of a bitch, you know that?"

I should have been walking away right then, but I wasn't.

"He was ready to sleep with you when he was drunk, wasn't he?"

"He's a fifteen-year-old boy, he'd sleep with anything. Hell, enough vodka he might even do you."

"Ha. Ha. Actually, darling, I'm being serious here. Honest, too."

"Oddly enough, that I believe. I'm just saying you're wrong, no matter how right you believe yourself to be."

He raised an eyebrow, "That so?"

I really didn't, and still don't, understand how he can go from rabid sex-fiend to, sadly, one of my best friends in two seconds flat.

"Indubitably."

"Aren't we smart with our big words? C'mon, let's go back." He linked his arm through mine and we set off back across the parking lot to where Demyx and Larxene leaned against Shiva's side, having finished shoving our bags in the trunk.

"Well then, that's pretty much it. Bye-bye kiddies, have fun. Drive safe!"

Hour 1: Sullen silence and petty rivalries abound. The fight for radio control is long and painful, casualties are high. J-pop on classic rock on synthetic, a three way battle to the death, _un__ ménage à trois sans grâce ou compassion humaine_**(2)**, if you will. The Paris Peace Treaty XXIV states that the driver controls the car's speakers but is bound by law to keep the volume moderate, so the others can drown it out with their headphones, should they so desire.

Hour 2: Sulking and plotting. My plots involve chloroform and a ditch for Larxene, and then driving off into the sunset with Demyx. Demyx is still, this does not bode well for anyone. I only have the CD that was in the player, I grabbed the wrong bag. I feel myself inch ever closer to the precipice of insanity.

Hour 3: Insanity sets in; it couldn't be held off any longer. I fear we are not long for this world. If any should find this, tell our story to the world. Let all know of the sins of Liam Raux. We-oh god help us-we sing along to Girlfriend on the radio.

* * *

_"I dust away the plaster from off your breathing body. You're touching your autonomy; you'll never be the same… Sculpt your nature within, I am your Pygmalion. Go, now, into the world; Trial by fire."_

* * *

**(1)**_Weck das Feuer in mir _Wake the fire in me  
_ Du weckst das Feuer in mir _You wake the fire in me  
_ Schwarzer Tod komm und lieb mich _Black Death, come and love me  
_ Schwarzer Tod umarm mich _Black Death, embrace me  
_ Schwarzer Tod vor deiner Fratze hab ich keine Angst _Black Death, I'm not scared at all

**(2)** "a three-way without grace or human compassion"

* * *

Yeah, crack, sometimes. Okay, **lyrics** in the **Naminé bit** are **Schwarzer Tod** by **Wumpscut**, it's a lovely, lovely song. **Divider** is **Trial by Fire** by **ThouShaltNot**, also a lovely song.

The almost early post is due to the fact that Assassin's Creed is out. Which means I'll be doing nothing but for a bit. So I thought I should post this before I start with that.

Not technically edited by someone who isn't me. If you find any massive errors, tell me.

My Fabulous Eraser Says: REVIEW. (It's not me, it's the eraser.)


	15. Talk Dirty

So, it is entirely possible that this chapter is **disgustingly short** and I'm a terrible/lazy person. So possible it might just be true. The official story is that next chapter will (hopefully) be one long event-thing and I didn't want to interrupt it. (Or I'm disgustingly lazy and uninspired, either way...)

Oh yeah, and **happy holidays** (or something) to all you holiday celebrating folks, and to the people **not in that last group**, well, bitches, I **envy you** like fuck. (mutters curses at the sky).  
(Please don't take offense at the"bitches" part, I love you all **dearly**.)

* * *

_You're about to be hit from the rear... pump the brakes hard and fast or slow and teasing?_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps-Cake**

I can feel my brain rotting. I still can't believe I grabbed the wrong bag. I hate myself so much right now. And Marluxia. Mostly Marluxia.

Demyx loaned me his mp3 player (read: chucked it at my head while telling me to stop whimpering). So I'm curled up in the fetal position, listening to Van Halen and wondering if this is my Karmic reward for screwing with The Father's head the other day by "speaking in tongues" the other day at the dinner table. It was just Chaucer, but he doesn't know that. Nor does he need to.

It's after Czernobog knows how many hours that Larxene twists around and yells, "Hey, Zex, I'm starting to see things up here, so if you'd want to switch places that'd be pretty shibby."

I glance up and grunt an assent as she pulls over the side of the road.

Sadly, driving is about as numbing as passenger-ing. Two in the morning on an unused back road will have that effect. In fact, with the lack of turns and other cars, it feels remarkably like English class. Amazing.

I've been driving for about an hour when Demyx clambers awkwardly over the little-used gear shift and into the passenger seat.

"Hiya," he says quietly as he fastens his seatbelt like a good little child.

"'ey."

He pulls his heels up onto the seat and wraps his arms around his knees, "Needed a change of view," he mutters.

"Ahh."

"Mm."

This is really riveting dialogue right here. I mean damn, can you talk about edge of your seat action?

I gradually become aware that he's humming something under his breath. It sounds sort of familiar, but I can't quite place it because my brain seems to be made of sludge and my most eloquent thoughts are- well, actually, they're- I don't go-er, _have-_ any.

The all-but tuneless hum gradually gathers inflection and range to the point where the transition is smooth as silk when he starts to sing.

"-into the light, illuminating you for all to see-"

_Oh_. That song. Crap. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye but he's staring benignly out the window and acting for all the world as if he has no idea he's singing.

"Come into my sight. Empty handed not for me. It's in your hands, my one demand-"

I glance at him again but he's still oblivious.

"No one can tell, the sins I need to sell-"

My glances become faster and more frequent till I ignore the road altogether as my foot lets up on the gas.

"I'm still sipping from your well, Reflecting back to me-"

Unable to take anymore, I clear my throat. He glances at me with a practiced sort of nonchalance that tells me he's just been making me squirm for his own sick pleasure.

"perfection in my eye, Hurt me, brea-"

"Uh, Dem?"

He smiles too innocently, "Yes, Zexion?"

When was the last time he called me by my full name?

I'm not entirely sure as to where to go from here. Crapcakes.

"There a reason why you're singing industrial?"

He grins like the Cheshire Cat, "Well, I was trying to figure out your little secret message. For a second or two I thought there was some important meaning in the song choice, but then I figured you just wanted to confuse the crap out of Larxene."

Well, he's not wrong.

"Oh, you know. It was that or Closer. But I thought "I want to fuck you like an animal" lacked a certain subtlety."

He chokes and laughs as his face turns a funny shade of burgundy, or maybe that's just the tinted light of the dashboard.

"So did you remember all that or did you get the song?"

"Got the song, it's not too bad. It grows on you, sort of like a tumor. A really, really angsty tumor."

I laugh, "Right."

"They're not bad, you know. Gravity Kills," he picks at a loose thread from the hole in his jeans as he returns to studying the less-than-riveting view out the window.

"Mmm."

"Their cover of Personal Jesus is pretty fucking sex, I can tell you that. Mind you, 'm not too fond of the original. Synth-pop is really not my thing."

"Fair enough." Where is this going? Why are we having a normal conversation? Aren't we supposed to be ignoring each other awkwardly??

He laughs suddenly, "What? Don't tell me you like Depeche Mode."

I shrug, feeling very uncomfortable. "Rather neutral on the whole thing. Though Enjoy the Silence has been known to make me very happy occasionally."

He laughs again, falsetto-ing out, "All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms."

My lips twitch in what could almost be called a smile, "Indeed."

"So, what do you think of this brilliant plan of Marluxia's?" he asks out of the blue, shattering the borderline-comfortable atmosphere with the ease of a really sharp knife through chicken McNuggets.

There's a lot of options here. I go for the concise-yet-vague, "Mostly a lot of homicidal urges."

"… huh."

I shrug, "You asked."

"Don't see why we couldn't have just flown. _He_gets to fly." He remarks bitterly, dragging the sole of his left high-top back and forth against the upholstery.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I for one, am dirt poor and jobless."

"S'what parents are for."

"Yours, mayhap. Mine seem to exist to ask me if I'm in satanic cults and why I deem it wise to consort with transvestites. Oh, there's also my crystal meth habits and love life, or lack thereof. "

Silence.

I sneak a glance at him, he's biting his lip funny and studying the heating vents.

"Sorry, over-sharing," I amend too late and wonder if perhaps I'm more tired than I thought.

He shakes his head and tightens his grip on the toes of his sneakers. "No, that just-explains some things."

I frown, puzzled, "Like?"

"How did it go?" He tilts his head back against the head rest and bites the tip of his tongue, eyes wide, "Erm, "_still not on drugs and I'm _quite_ sure that I do not want to date, Larxene, thank you very much!"_ "

"How the hell do you remember that? Verbatim, I might add." I glance at him again, eyes wide, an odd mix of surprise that he'd remember, and a stupid, flattered sort of feeling.

He shrugs, non-committal, "It was odd, I was wondering what prompted it."

He avoids my gaze as he stretches back between our seats, groping blind for something behind him. The movement lifts his pullover the stupidest little bit and I suppose I really should be watching the road but that tiny ribbon of flesh is so much more interesting.

He re-emerges from the void with a small black zip case in hand. "Contacts," he mutters, noticing my interest.

"Mmm." I go back to studying the road. Well, not so much studying as reassuring myself that yes, there really is nothing I need to be doing; a straight track with no other cars. Well, back to Demyx it is. I am so going to hell.

He's finished with the removal process and is sliding a pair of black-rimmed glasses up his nose. He turns to me and smiles, cola-sweet contentment. My breath hitches and I look at him several seconds too long, inexplicably glad that he didn't bother with hair-styling today. I realize I'm a moron and return my gaze to the road with a slight headshake.

"You're gonna make me crash," I mutter, more to myself than him.

Demyx turns back to the window, lips curved in what could be a self-satisfied smirk, but is more like to be the same cola-sweet smile as before.

* * *

_You're about to be hit from the rear... pump the brakes hard and fast or slow and teasing?_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Pink Dinosaur-Papaya **

**(I'm going to hell for using this song for this part…)**

I'm rotting without Roxas and it's pathetic. Damned symbiosis. I've been all but living in Xigbar's basement the past few days. Stumbling home as late as possible, without making my overly-concerned mother call the cops or some shit. I've taken more drugs in the past few days than I have in months. Roxas doesn't approve of drugs, you know. So I don't, er, didn't. Feh.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I suffered through Health class just like every other teenager. Drugs are bad, I know the speech. But rules are made to be broken and there's always an except-oh fuck it, like I give a damn.

I'm sick and miserable and I'm a damned needy bitch so I live with Xigbar and help him with the dumb shit he does to get the money he needs to live, live and buy more drugs.

My teeth are scummy and my eyes feel thick; thick, and tobacco-yellow. They feel like how they do after you spend an all-nighter staring at a computer screen. All dilated pupils and broken blood vessels.

I'm lying on the carpet by the couch. I think the damned thing is made of wool, and it's making my back itch like anything, at least, I _think_ it's my back, can never be certain, you know.

I've been staring at the smoke patterns for over an hour. Like cloud gazing, except with pot.

Luxord, that freak, is sort of on top of me, and busily talking into my collarbone. My skin muffles the noise. Not that matters since I wouldn't have a damned clue what he's saying anyhow.

Xemnas and Saïx are on the couch. Naked. Underneath a blanket at least. I think they've stopped. I'd say it's about damn time and that they were bothering me, but I'm not too sure if that was me, or someone else. Whatev.

All of a sudden, the freak sits up and shouts something, he sounds real like excited, like he's discovered the meaning of life or some shit.

Turns out not so much, he just pulls out a deck of cards from… somewhere. He shouts it again, and somehow it makes sense in my befuddled brain. Poker, duh.

Well, I'm game, so I sit up too, for a second or two at least before sort of spilling back onto my side. I try it again and this time prop myself up against the coffee table. Xigbar and Lexaeus- where the crap did he come from- materialize at my shoulder and sit.

It takes a few rounds till I sort of remember what I'm doing, I'm supposed to be making sets, too bad I can't remember what it is I'm s'posed to be making sets _of_.

We play a few more rounds, and I'm doin' okay, considering I'm playing 'gainst the freak, who has freakish card skills, pun… not really intended. And then, aforementioned freak says something else, in what might be a sly tone, or maybe an odd sort of mating call, whatever. Xigbar sort of chuckles, which is pretty much a sign of doom, but I can't _quite_ bring myself to care.

Anyhow, I lose the next hand, majorly. We pass our cards over to Luxord and I'm waiting for him to shuffle and deal when I realize that everyone is staring at me, expectant.

It takes a few seconds, but my face turns confused. Xigbar just chuckles again then leans in close and whispers, "You're s'psed to strip."

I turn to face him and bleak once or twice, "Eh?"

"Strip poker. Luxord called it before the hand started."

Strip… oh. Oh, right. My hands drag over to the zipper of my hoodie. I try tugging on it but my coordination's shot and it takes a few tries, and then a few more tries to tug the damned thing down. The freak leans forward to help, which is nice of him… and kinda creepy. Shoving it off my shoulders throws off my balance (somehow, not quite sure how) and I spill back over onto my side, and sort of onto Xigbar's lap.

I'm on the brink trying to sit back up (at least I think I am) when the Freak is leaning over me and his mouth on mine and… and I'm not quite sure about after that because I'm remembering something, or maybe I'm making something up. Did it happen, or was it a dream? I'm so fucked in the head.

Blonde hair… I think I thought it was Roxas. The eyes-the eyes were wrong. Mouth… skin… What?

Suddenly, it all becomes clear. Sort of.

Regardless, I shove the Freak off and mutter, "I so need to get the fuck out of here." Or I tried to; it came out more along the lines of. "S'Mfdouteer." I haul myself to my feet and stagger to the door, and then stagger back, pick up my hoodie and stagger back to the door. I know I'm in a right shit condition. But I'm just as sure if I don't get out now, I'll lose it…the idea, the plan, the-the truth. So I shove the door open (the knob kept moving) and my head starts to clear.

I'm not too sure how exactly I got home. I just kept clinging to that one thought as I avoided cars and people as best I could. Finally I find myself collapsed face-first on my bed. The pillow is sort of making it hard to breathe, but I can deal. It's good Xigbar lives relatively close, or else… well, I don't really know what, but it'd be bad.

And then there was sleep, sweet, beautiful sleep.

**BGM: Kooler Than Jesus-My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult  
**

I wake up confused; missing the sickly-sweet scent of Xigbar's basement. And then memory hits me like a tidal wave and I'm lying wide-awake on my comforter trying to make it all make sense.

I think it went sort of like this. Having Luxord kiss me (oh god, need soap, lots of soap), was my Rock Bottom. Maybe. Maybe it was like the Wooden Floor A Couple of Feet Above Rock Bottom, but it's close enough. Tyler'd be so fucking proud.

Hello world, I Am Jack's Random and Burning Ambition. (_I get cancer, I kill Jack._)

I stumble into the bathroom and find myself retching into the toilet. Nothing really comes up, I can't remember the last time I ate. Stumble to my feet, rinse out my mouth. Looking in the mirror is a mistake. I've always been thin (okay, skinny) but after the whole not-eating thing… (_…looked like a famine relief poster with style…_) And I'm pretty sure that skin isn't supposed to be that color.

I lurch over to the shower and turn it on to maximum heat, beyond grateful when steam on the mirror obscures my reflection. I should eat soon (very soon) but my family is downstairs… I can't go down looking like this.

After, my skin steaming and lobster pink, I pull out my baggiest clothes and pull them on. Returning to the mirror, and wiping at it with a towel, I look better, not quite like one of the living, but improved none the less.

Back to the whole Rock Bottom thing; it sort of made me realize something. (Okay, duh.) Put aside the whole Roxas-needing, that isn't what I should be focusing on. What I should be focusing on is me (there's a nice altruistic perspective on life). I mean, in my current state,_I _wouldn't date me; which is saying something because I fully admit I am one of the sexiest damned bitches I know. Not bragging, just stating the facts.

Plus, Roxas is an ass. An ass who hates weakness; or what he sees as weakness. So if he thinks I fall apart without him, massive turn off. Which is bad.

Feeling determined, I wander downstairs, focused on the scent of waffles.

* * *

_You're about to be hit from the rear... pump the brakes hard and fast or slow and teasing?_

* * *

The divider is what happens when you happen to be perverted and taking Drivers Ed. (I'd add bored, but drivers ed does that for you.) 

Sorry about the short and the suck, maybe one day I'll write something that **doesn't** make me want to go cry in a hole for an hour or ten. (**Entirely possible I'll take this down in a few hours** of realizing I actually posted, don't be surprised/confused.)

Also, am I the only one who really, really **hates my akuroku**? Bleh. **Next story** (assuming there will be one) they'll be a **lo****t less full of suck**, I swear to that god guy in the sky... sleep good.

Oh yeah, comments that might not make sense to some people in the second half of the Axel bit are from **Fight Club**. Go read/watch it.

You **should totally review**. It's like holiday cheer **without** the misery!


	16. Been You Before

Heya, **under three weeks**, I'm quite proud.

Quick note before we go anywhere,** Sora's "scary techno-pop" is totally blondevil's scary techno-pop. **(Because I needed a segue and happened to be listening to it, am I creative or what?)

**I would like apologize to Luxord**. I'm actually rather fond of him, and feel bad for his portrayal last chapter, but it had to be done. And you can all stop worrying, there will be **no more Luxord/Axel**. (Most likely) ever.

* * *

_"Your tongue in my mouth, trying to keep the words from coming out; you didn't care to know who else may have been you before."_

* * *

**Sora BGM: Personal Jesus 2006-Richard Cheese/Milkshake-Richard Cheese**

Morning is a time for relaxation and calm. Or, if Riku is there, a time to kick Riku repeatedly in the shins till he finally wakes up. I swear, the boy could sleep forever…

Which is sort of irrelevant as he isn't here, thereby making that information pointless and destroying my whole thesis so now I need new main arguments and-and I hate writing papers, that's what.

So, cough, anyway…

Relaxation. Calm. Meditation, maybe. Or, you know, not.

Anyhow, morning's a time for a calm, ie, useless. Mornings are the scum of the Earth and should not be allowed to exist. Hence, I'm understandably pissed when I wake up at 7:14:36 precisely on what otherwise promised to be a perfectly lovely day. (The day after the what-the-hell-happened-in-the-attic incident, in case you're wondering.) Furthermore, I'm understandably (vaguely) homicidal when, at 7:15:02, not only am I still awake, I am, in fact, more awake than I am during most of the day. Sometimes you just can't win.

Resigned to my own personal hell I go downstairs and make coffee… in accordance with the prophecy, or that idiom, saying that thing about going down, or is it out, swinging. Yeah, whatever. I make coffee. Coffee is good. Coffee is made of win. That is all.

There are some, Cloud, who might… _tell you_ certain… _things_ about my coffee. Like how it can be used in that animation of zombies, perhaps even Spanish speaking zombies who will pop out of small wooden shacks and yell things like "morir es vivir" or "matalo" or maybe even "te voy a matar." Yeah, that'd be pretty bitchin.' Zombie fantasies aside, my coffee is very, ahem, strong, one might say.

(You can just skim all the shit of bulls above and simply come to this one conclusion: I'm trying to excuse myself from spasmodic dancing in the kitchen, prior to 8 in the morning. It's like the no alcohol before noon rule. (I don't actually think the rule says noon, but that's what Selphie says and I'm way too freaking lazy to look it up.)

And then Naminé comes down and has coffee and she'd probably like to have an excuse as well. 'Cause by that time I'm blasting the scary techno-pop I love so well and praise hézus for sound insulation! Yeah, that Naminé, she's pretty cool. Her scary techno-pop dancing is even more seizure-tastic than mine, which is saying something.

And also very surprising, considering she's normally rather… laid back, ish, or something. Whatever, I don't give a shit.

And then Cloud comes down, and I bet he'd really, really like an excuse. (Though he says the fact that he hasn't slept yet counts as an excuse. All well, the more excuses the merrier I say.)

(Again, skim through the shit of bulls and come to this conclusion: We're all standing in a triangle thrashing our way through last night's lasagna, (Gee Cloud, way to make us all fat) when Naminé randomly says something about us having party that makes Cloud and I very confused.

Naminé then goes on to explain something about how Rinoa had made all the arrangements and she was sure we knew about it, which, of course, we don't, but we figure Leon might.

We go up to his room and wake him up, and gosh isn't _that_a fun time, and he doesn't know anything either. So then we're like "shit" and call Rinoa. Who tells us in no uncertain terms that yes, we are indeed having a party.

And then Cloud points out that we have no food.

So I strike a heroic pose and yell, "To the grocery mobile, AWAY!!"

* * *

_"Your tongue in my mouth, trying to keep the words from coming out; you didn't care to know who else may have been you before."_

* * *

**(3****rd****Person)(1)**

The party started with the camera zooming out for a bird's eye view. It was a large party, with a lot of people, not necessarily the very good friends of Leon and Cloud like usual. At the edge of the pool was a group of girls, well, mostly girls. Roxas and a few other boys were there, too. Roxas was there because Naminé was there, lingering on the fringes with Rikku.

Across the pool there was another cluster, this one entirely girls, with the exception of Axel. Who was at the center of it, laughing and smiling and generally just seducing the pants off everyone; which is always a good time. And would have been remarkably successful had it not been for the fact that, being a pool party, most people were already not wearing pants. Because swimming generally involves the removal of pants; whether by the wearer of the pants or another (like a short elven helper, possibly wearing green) is not specified. The seduction is necessary to indicate purely because Roxas was looking more and more pissed off by the minute. Axel wasn't supposed to smile at anyone who wasn't him like that, goddamnit.

Finding himself out of drink, and the contents of the cooler unsatisfactory, Axel went inside to get a container of liquid refreshment. This would have been completely boring and not in the least noteworthy were it not for the fact that, a few moments earlier, Roxas had gone inside to go the bathroom. This resulted in the two passing, Roxas going out, Axel going in. It was a magical moment.

Axel, as was stated in the previous chapter (fourth wall falls over and dies, it had been putting up valiant fight, but had to crack under the strain and constant poking), was not looking so very good. Roxas would never admit it, without the implementation of torture at least, but he was sort of worried. Axel had always been what one might politely call "skinny in a skeletal sort of way" and had always been pale, one could even say, pasty; this is true. But his current condition, Axel had gone beyond white to yellow. Not even a nice cadmium yellow, oh no, this was a hansa yellow sort of tinge going on. Not that Roxas would phrase it like that, but the gist is the same. As to the skinny physique, Roxas was quite sure that beneath the shirt and hoodie Axel refused to remove, his ribs were very countable, perhaps even play-like-a-xylophone-able

Axel had forgone the previous rule about pants removal (and its cousins regarding shirts and any other form of non swim wear) in deference to the fact that he did not swim. He claimed this was due to having watched Jaws at a young age and never being quite able to convince himself that sharks couldn't possible live in a swimming pool, especially one located in someone's backyard, but really had more to do with the fact that his hair looked stupid wet; really, really stupid.

And so, as Roxas and Axel passed by one another, Axel refusing glance at the younger, shorter, prettier, but not hotter, generally, more-uke-so-why-is-he-seme boy, Roxas reached out and grabbed Axel's elbow, dragging him further in the house and out of view.

"What the fuck is up with you?" Roxas snapped. Using anger instead of concern, because concern is a weakness and Roxas, who is a prick, refused to allow himself to seem weak. (Most of the time, there were exceptions.)

"Shouldn't that be my question?" Axel quipped acrimoniously, staring at the tip of Roxas' nose, because he didn't want to look him in the eye at the moment.

"Don't fuck around," Roxas snapped, now angry for actually legitimate reasons, "You look like shit."

Axel glared at him, now meeting his eyes, "_Wow_. Thanks darlin', and to think, I actually sort of missed you." This last could well be categorized as the understatement of the century, or at least the decade.

Roxas stared up at him, hating himself for being shorter by a notable margin, finally noting the numerous red veins in the off-white whites of Axel's eyes. "You moron! Are you doing drugs again?"

Axel leaned back against the counter, fingers twitching, sneering nastily. "Well, I was, Mother, but then I saw the error of my ways and stopped. Do I get a cookie and a gold star now?"

"Asshole," Roxas hissed.

Axel smirked, this was familiar territory, "You know it."

"I hate you," Roxas muttered flatly, like he meant it.

For a split second, Axel actually looked hurt, then he smiled bitterly and reached his fingers into Roxas' sunshine-golden hair, "Sure," the taller murmured, leaning slowly forward, "but-"

Roxas, never the hardest to distract, forgot they were fighting and that they really shouldn't be doing this in Leon's kitchen anyhow, leaned forward automatically, hands going to Axel's waist. Their lips were a centimeter apart when Axel pulled back sharply. "I win," he whispered, his voice and smirk were harsh but the way that his thumb brushed Roxas' cheekbone was gentle in a way that made Roxas smack it away furiously.

On his way toward the door, Axel turned back and stretched. His shirt lifted and Roxas was probably right about the ribs, if the sharp points of his hips are any indicator. "Try not to let that sexual frustration get to you, Rox," he leered, before all but strutting out of sight.

Roxas felt like an utter fool, which was rather justified, and this made him very, very angry. Upon re-entry of the party area, the first sight he was confronted with was Axel, flirting even more than before. Roxas felt his blood begin to boil. Roxas was never good at thinking rationally, outside of essays, anger quarters this ability.

Roxas jumped easily onto the first table he got to. "Hey, everyone!" He yelled to get everyone's attention. "I-" he paused for drama, "I've got some stuff I'd like to get off my chest."

Axel raised an eyebrow, somewhere between curious and incredulous. The rest of the assembled host was silent and turned to face the boy on the table with a vague interest.

"First off, Axel-Axel and I, are together, like-" he blinked, searching for the appropriate phrasing, "like, fucking."

The onlookers were, for the most part, surprised. Some like Cloud just blinked. A few of the girls around Axel scooted away nervously.

"And you know, since I'm sharing, may as well share a little more right?" Fury made him calm, calm and sarcastic. "For example," he said brightly, "_speaking_ of gay, Leon, your little brother is gay enough that he might well be a ballerina one day."

Sora, who was there for the purpose of junk food-acquisition, squeaked and dropped a can of soda on his foot. Riku and Kairi both shift instinctively forward, like they could protect him from what'd been said.

Roxas shrugged casually, on top of his table-stage, "Just thought you oughta know. And, you know, Leon, you really might want to tell Cloud at some point. Just, put him out of his misery already, 'kay? Naminé, your life is more fucked up than mine, so for the love of god, stop telling the rest of us how to live our lives. Tifa, sorry, I always liked you, ya know, but Cloud will never love you, deal. Zell! Your-"

And so it continued, everyone was too shell-shocked to find a way to make him shut up. When he'd finished ripping everyone apart he turned to go, then abruptly spun back to face them again, "And _by the way_, you really all have Axel to thank for this little public service announcement. He's the one who just _insisted_ I tell you all." With a salute and a bow, he jumped off the table and disappeared around the corner of the house before anyone could move.

No one could look at any one else, jaws clenched, they studied the ground and scenery.

Axel, frozen in what could honestly be called horror, shifted, and suddenly, everyone was staring at him with hate and death in their eyes.

"Uh…" he stammered, "I-I didn't… sorry!" And with that, he turned and ran, following the path Roxas had taken not a minute prior.

In front of the house, he found the blond sitting in his car, hands tight on the wheel, staring moodily into space.

Axel paused a few feet from the car, unsure what to do now he was here. Roxas glanced at him, and then gestured towards the passenger seat. Axel complied, sitting nervously, hands fisting in his lap. Roxas didn't start the car.

"Didn't know if you'd still be here," Axel said finally.

"Didn't know if you were coming," Roxas rejoined. He started the car.

A few yards from the driveway, Axel finally spoke again, "You really shouldn't have done that, you know."

"I know." A pause. "You really backed me into a corner there, Ax."

"Hey, if it bothered you that much, you should've said something."

"I thought I made it perfectly clear."

"Evidently you didn't."

Silence reigned.

"You think they'll ever forgive us?" There was almost a laugh in the blond's tone.

The use of "us" rankled Axel, but he didn't mention it. "Not for a long, long time."

"…"

"You know, call me a selfish bastard, but I'm still pretty happy, overall, ignoring the whole 'our friends hate us thing.'" He can't help but smile a little.

Roxas frowned, thinking. Finally, he just had to say it. "Did-did you really miss me?" he asked in a voice that said that he didn't want to ask, but wanted to know and really, really didn't want to sound like he gave a shit. It really failed at that last bit.

Axel shrugged, non-committal, "Sorta."

Roxas couldn't quite repress a tiny smile. "I guess I missed you, too. A little."

Wordless, Axel reached over to the freehand resting on Roxas thigh and gave it a small squeeze before beating a hasty retreat.

Roxas froze, "Do that again and I might have to break your fingers." His tone was joking, sort of.

Axel grinned and stared out the window, "I know, darlin', I know."

Roxas didn't even bother repressing this smile.

* * *

_"Your tongue in my mouth, trying to keep the words from coming out; you didn't care to know who else may have been you before."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Wicked Game-H.I.M.  
**

"You know, that might well have been the most god-awful social gathering in the history of god-awful social gatherings," I suggest to the silence as Leon and I pick up the remnants of what could've been a decent time, before Roxas turned into the Incredible Hulk of gossip… or something like that.

Leon shrugs and throws a beer can at the trash can and misses, "Damn it. Ehh, I dunno. There is always Tifa's, thought at least you were entertaining."

"You know, you guys can all really shut the fuck up about that that," I snap, shoving a chair back into place.

Leon glances up at my, surprised at the sudden temper. Now I feel guilty. Great.

"Sorry, it's just-"

He slings an arm around my shoulders and shrugs, "It's cool, man. Roxas threw us all off." He blows out a huge sigh of defeat and sags against me.

"Get off me and go pick up your failed beer can projectile."

"Damn it," he mutters as he follows orders. He stops a few feet away, "Did you know? About Axel and Roxas I mean. You didn't really look surprised."

I shrug and avoid looking at the mess surrounding us, "I had been kinda wondering for a while… Any idea what it is that Roxas thinks you should tell me?" I can't help but ask, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer. You are straight and will always be straight.

"Not the foggiest." He glances back at me, standing there doing nothing, the picture of helpfulness. "About Sora, do-do you think he's-?"

Sorry, Leon. I can't betray your brother like that. I shrug and turn to pick something up, "No idea."

"Oh. Okay. That's-I think I'm gonna go see Rinoa, she looked sorta… funny when she left."

"Oh, leave me to pick this all up by myself why don't you?!" I yell at his retreating back.

I glance at the surrounding mess and shrug out a "well fuck that."

I go see Naminé instead; she looked sucker punched when Roxas made his little "public service announcement." I find her stretched out on her bed listening to headphones.

"Hey?" I question tentatively.

The volume must be low because she rolls her head up to look at me.

"Hey, Cloud," she says in the defeated tone of the already dead.

I suddenly realize I have no idea what it is I'm here to do. "I, uh, came to visit you. You looked sort of-and, well, Leon left, but that's-"

"Where did he go?"

I shift uncomfortably, "Rinoa's."

She sits up, leaning against the headboard like an anemic doll. "Sucks for you."

She doesn't say it like a taunt. She says it like she means it.

"Wanna come in?" she gestures at the bed with a mocking smile.

I sit hesitantly on the foot of the bed, before collapsing back onto my forearm.

"How long have you liked him?"

I run a hand through my hair, absent mindedly tugging out a tangle, "While."

She smirks, "Informative."

"Very… Are you okay?"

"That is _such_ an odd question," she muses. "I dunno. I will be. It wasn't too mind-shattering, just-"

"A kick in the teeth?" I offer helpfully.

She nods, mouth twisted. "That's an odd way of putting it, but yeah." She nods once or twice more, "Very much so actually."

"'M sorry."

"Not your fault. And really, not so very much of a big deal."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Mm-hmm. Just need time." She smiles softly but I really don't see what there is to be smiling about. "What's up with you? You're being very unusually bondy today."

"I-not quite sure actually. Do I need a reason?"

She shakes her head and smiles again. "No, it's sorta nice though."

Somewhere down on the first story the front door slams. And maybe it's my imagination but I swear I can hear the stomp of boots from all the way up here.

I glance at the door immediately and bite my lip. I want to go; I _need_ to go, but Naminé-

"It's okay, puppy, you can go."

"Sorry," I say with an apologetic grin even as I get up and move to the door.

She waves her hand and smiles, laughing.

From the kitchen, I can hear pots and pans being slammed about, I'm heading toward the noise when the front door is thrown open. It's Rinoa, looking distinctly ruffled with clothes thrown on haphazardly and a shirt that looks inside out. Well. That explains a lot.

"You!" she exclaims with wide eyes like she's never seen me before.

"And you," I return wondering why she seems to think I need to be flayed alive, judging by the look in her eyes.

"Where's Leon?"

I shrug, "Like I know." Except I totally do.

There's a yelp from the kitchen, "God fucking damnit!"

She barrels roughly past me and toward the kitchen.

I stand where she left for a second longer before shutting the front door and heading into the kitchen as well. I don't think I want to be involved but I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be able to hear most of it anyway.

"Leon, would you just cal- Damn it, come back here!"

Still in the hallway, Leon shoulders past me and heads up the stairs. Rinoa tries to follow but on instinct I shove an arm out and catch her around the waist. She struggles but she's pretty weak.

"Hey, Leon!" No answer. "Squall!"

He turns sharply and almost falls down the stairs, "What?!"

"Um, what do you want me to do with her?"

He stares at me, not comprehending.

"I mean, do you want me to like, kick her out, or-"

"Be my guest," He turns again and is out of sight in seconds.

Well, got my orders from the boss-man.

I start marching her over to the door but the little bitch somehow manages to get teeth fixed in my arm, painfully. I yelp and let her go. She swings herself around the nuel post and starts racing up the stairs. I haul her back by the wrist before she gets too far and end up holding her to my chest again.

"Let me the fuck go!"

She tries to bite me again, but I learned from the last time.

"Listen, Rinoa, I have no idea what's going on so don't-"

"Just following orders like a good dog?"

I shake her, "Uncalled for. All I know is that Leon doesn't want you here and so-"

"God, you are so whipped."

"Am not! Whipped implies sex, I'm just a tool." Did I seriously say that out loud?

"Right, not having sex, ya-huh."

"We're not!"

"But I bet you wish you were," she taunts.

Yes, yes I do. But that is none of your business. "Woman, you are chock full of crazy."

She sags, exhausted, "Just let me go, I'll leave, I promise."

I sort of believe her, plus I know I could fully haul her back again. I let her go.

She opens the door, then turns, silhouetted in the dying light, she eyes me, like she's scanning to see if I really could beat her to the stairs. She sighs again, "Look, could you just tell him I'm sorry."

"Yeah, sure."

She nods, tight lipped, closes the door and leaves.

I go upstairs.

"Erm, hey?"

He's sitting on his bed, collapses against the headboard like Naminé, contemplating the green bottle of something in his hands. He glances up at me sharply before returning to his bottle studying.

"You and I," he says slowly, without looking up, "are going to get very, very drunk."

"Do you think that's a good idea? I'm not exactly the best drunk."

"Fine, I'll get drunk and you can listen to my demented ramblings. Whatever."

"Ah, good-good… um, why?"

"Rinoa was fucking Seifer."

"Ah… What?!" Well I guessed the fucking but not the Seifer. Shit, no wonder it's fucking with Leon's head. He _hates_ that guy.

"Precisely." He wiggles the cork out and leans back, bottle tipped vertical. When he's (finally) done drinking he coughs violently; bent double, face red and eyes watering.

"Fuck," he presses the back of one hand to his mouth, "that shit is nasty."

I snatch the bottle from him and turn it around in my hands. There isn't a label. So I try some. I don't cough, but it's a close thing; that shit _is_ nasty.

He leans back again and shakes his hair over his shoulders and sighs heavily. His cheeks are burning with the alcohol's flush. "She says she wanted to feel needed because," he coughs slightly into his elbow and grabs the bottle back from me, "because she thinks that you and I are-" He glances at me for a second before looking away, shaking his head and laughing. "Never mind, it's too ridiculous."

"Yeah, she said something of the like downstairs."

"Mmm. Anything interesting?" He downs what looks like the other half of the bottle.

I shrug, "Well, apparently I'm whipped."

He shrugs, nonplussed. "Well, you _are_ my bitch."

"Ha. Ha."

He frowns at me, "Come sit over here," he pats the bed beside him, "Looking at you over there makes my head hurt."

"I'm pretty sure that's the alcohol, actually." But I do it anyway. Leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed in front of me.

"Hey, Cloud."

Alcohol is slurring his speech, making him stretch his vowels for an eternity.

"Yeah?"

He swings himself on top of me and begins to examine the hair by my ears. I freeze.

"What the crap are you doing?"

"I have to ask you a question," he says seriously.

"And why does that involve staring at my ears?"

He sits back, frowning, "It-it doesn't actually, I'm not sure why-" Distracted he leans forward again, face hovering above mine like that day in the attic. His thumb traces the outer edge of my bottom lip over and over again in a way that makes my mouth feel sort of … tingly. And the only thing that keeps me from jumping him is the reek of alcohol on his breath.

"You-" he frowns, stuttering and slurring, "you talk in your sleep sometimes… Cloud, do you want me?"

And just like that, my world fall apart. I'm on the brink of formulating some bullcrap answer when he lunges forward again and I recover control of my limbs in time to hold him back before his mouth hits mine.

"Leon," I say calmly and softly like I'm talking to a wild animal, "You are very, very drunk. You do not want to do this. You want to get off of me." Carefully, I guide his knee over so he's not on top of me anymore. Once he's settled I slide toward the edge of the bed and stand up. I need to go somewhere very far away and take a bath in ice water.

"Cloud!" I turn back and he grabs my face in his hands, crushing his lips clumsily to mine. It's awkward, and stuck somewhere between pleasant and unpleasant.

And with possibly the greatest effort of will known to man I catch his wrists and pull him off.

"Please don't do this. You like girls Leon. You're just mad because you caught your girlfriend screwing around with a guy you hate." I study his right thumbnail.

He flinches and looks away, "Just-don't go. I-I won't touch you again, I promise."

I am such a tool. I slide onto the bed beside him awkwardly.

There's a slight knock on the door. Leon grunts what I take to be a "come in," but too quietly for the person on the other side of the door to here.

"Come in!" I yell because someone has to do it.

It's Sora, with Riku a distant figure hovering in the background.

"Uh, Leon?"

"Unh," he grunts, dropping his head onto my stomach to face the door. He drank most of the bottle in a very short amount of time; I'm sort of surprised he hasn't passed out yet.

Sora looks discomfited with his brother's state but says nothing. "Uh, me and Riku are heading out for a bit, and um, um, what the heck happened to you?"

Leon scowls, "Nnh!" I gesture at the now empty bottle with the arm Leon isn't squashing.

"That did. Rinoa was… with Seifer."

"Say what now?" Sora blurts out while Riku, more visible now, murmurs a, "Bitch."

Leon frowns turn to a more moping expression, "Mmmf."

Sora looks uncomfortable again, "Um, anyway, Riku and I are heading out now, just in case you were wondering… uh, yeah."

He starts backing away and Riku follows.

"Oy! Wait!"

Gosh, Leon, I didn't know you were still capable of speech.

"Mmm?" hummed Sora, looking positively terrified.

"You-you two," Leon tries to gesture to explain himself but only succeeds in sprawling more completely across my lap, "are-are you like," he wrinkles his nose, "together?"

"Uh, well that's not really a- define together," Sora hedges.

Riku, finally, steps forward putting his arm protectively around Sora's shoulders. "Yeah, yeah we are."

"Oh. Okay." Exhausted by the effort of keeping his head up Leon's face is buried (awkwardly) in my stomach now.

"Um, is that it?"

Leon flaps a hand and mutters something that might translate to "go."

They turn to leave but are stopped when Leon yells out a, "Stop!"

They spin on their heels, expectant and dreading.

"Riku, if you hurt him I will have to kill you." He's surprisingly articulate for one so utterly drunk.

Sora squeals, "Really?!" He dashes forward and hugs Leon awkwardly, accidentally smothering his older brother. It takes him a second to realize this, "Shit, sorry!" he drops Leon who lands (painfully) face first in my stomach, again.

"Right, well, we'll be going now." Sora can't quite suppress a broad grin and hell, even Riku is smiling.

"Bye," I wave and wish I were anywhere but here with a horrendously drunk Leon.

Leon twists to look at me. He looks unsure.

"You did a good thing."

"Did I? 'M not so sure."

"You did, you're an ass for being homophobic."

"Am I?"

"Yup," I nod seriously.

"Oh. Sorry. Yanno, you-you never answered my question."

Shit. Wait... "What question?"

"I-I'm not sure."

I shake my head, "You didn't ask me any questions."

"Didn't I? Could've sworn I did…"

"You didn't."

"Oh. I'm gonna go to sleep now, is that okay?"

I nod again, "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay."

"Night, Cloudo." He stretches out beside me, using my shoulder as a pillow as I slide down from a sitting position.

He passes out disturbingly quickly, one hand fisting in my shirt. Hesitantly I put my arm around him and twine a finger or two in his hair, "Night, Leon."

* * *

_"Your tongue in my mouth, trying to keep the words from coming out; you didn't care to know who else may have been you before."_

* * *

**(1)BGMs**:  
**Rinoa: Your Clown-Eiffel 65** (don't ask)  
**Axel: You Really Got Me- Van Halen  
Roxas: Shock the Monkey-Coal Chamber  
Naminé: Castles in the Sky **

* * *

So yeah, there it be. Generally rather happy with it. I liked the axel/roxas scene much more than usual, I was **sort of worried it was fluff** for a while, but blondevil said it was like fluff that had been **beaten and abused**, so I figured that was **okay**.

**Divider **is** Lover I Don't Have To Love-Bright Eyes**, which is a **rather good song, until he starts to sing**, that sort of ruins it.** Still good though. **

Do I even have to say it?


	17. Drunk On Ego

**Aloha! **It has been a very **long time**, for that I **apologize**. While this chapter is not incredibly long, I don't plan on taking a break between chapter writing, so the next one should be up much **sooner** than this one.

That being said, I'd like to **thank** all the lovely **people who reviewed**.

* * *

_"Drunk on ego, truly thought I could make it right if I kissed you one more time to help you face the nightmare."_

* * *

**Sora BGM: Tank!**

"Something must be done, Riku."

"About what? Your brother being incredibly drunk? I don't think there's much we can do with that."

We're sitting in his car, Speed Racer. We were going to go out but are now sitting useless, flummoxed, in the driveway.

"About Rinoa; the manly honor of the Leonhart-Loire Clan has been besmirched. Something must be done."

Riku seems to get it, "Yes, of course, my lord, but what?"

"I don't know, Riku, but something must be done."

He loses patience, "You've said that already."

I glare at him and open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off.

"And really, isn't it more _Leon_'s, erm, manly hono_u_r that's been besmirched, not that of your, er, clan?"

"When she insults him, she insults us all. This is not a slight we shall take calmly! We are _men_, by god, and we shall-"

"What on earth have you been reading?!"

"Please, my loyal vassal, I beg of you, do not interrupt. Where was I? Oh, right. We are _men_, by god, and we shall valiantly go... go valiantly into, er, crap, I lost it. Thanks a lot, Ri."

"Please don't blame your insanity on me," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "So, um, what exactly are we going to do to, er, save your hono_u_r?"

"_I_ _don't know_! If I knew we'd be out doing it already!" With a vaguely masculine wail, I collapse on the dashboard and glare out over my crossed arms.

Riku takes a deep sigh and starts to reason out load, "Well, if we're going to be all old-fashioned about the cause, shouldn't we be old-fashioned about the means?"

I wrinkle my nose, "You mean, like, burning at the stake, I think that's kinda illegal."

"Well, cheating is like adultery right, so we just-"

"Oh, _of course_, we just sew a giant, red letter A to her chest. Brilliant."

One, two, three…

We look at each other, "Actually-" he starts.

"That's not half bad," I finish.

"Convenience store away?" he prompts jokingly, starting the engine.

"Oh. Hells. Yeah."

We go and quickly locate the items we need. Spray paint. Toilet paper. Eggs. (Those last two were at Riku's insistence.)

"Sora, why are you carrying eggs and toilet paper?"

"I-what?"

Aqua eyes narrow, "You can't be serious."

"Serious about what?" I ask innocently, staring at him with wide eyes and struggling not to whistle or hide the offending objects behind my back.

"You-fine. Whatever. Only because I love you."

I beam at him and mentally promise him chocolate-chip muffins. We carry the stuff, he's got the spray paint, up to the register, where an incredibly bored looking girl sits on a stool reading a book that looks heavier than me and Riku combined. We deposit our purchases on the counter and wait for her to find a suitable stopping place.

She rings up the eggs and toilet paper without incident but glances up with blank grey eyes at the spray paint, "ID?"

"Henh?"

She gazes longingly at the book on the counter, "You have to be eighteen to purchase that item."

"Why?" That was Riku.

She shrugs minimally, placing a few fingers reverently on the front cover of her book. "Spray paint, lighters, cigarettes, alcohol, general tobacco products, knives; all require legitimized proof of age. Also M games, R movies and etcetera, but we don't sell those here," she adds as an after thought.

"But, but it's really important. We're on a mission!" I plead, hoping to appeal to her sense of justice or valor.

She looks at us fully for the first time. "What kind of mission?" Her lips quirk.

"From God!" I yell at the same time that Riku blurts out "True Love, the greatest thing in the world!"

Well, we're both thinking of movies, just not the same ones, that's all.

She eyes us coldly, "Right, good luck with that then. Why don't you just pay for that stuff so we can all move on with our lives, hmm?"

"It's true love_ from_ God."

"Naturally," the book is open in her lap and whatever opportunity we might've had is lost and gone forever, just like Clementine.

"I could, uh," Riku clears his throat and leans over the counter, "make it worth your while."

She looks up, disbelieving, though her face seems a bit pinker. "You're prostituting yourself for spray paint, that's just sad." She tucks limp brown hair behind her ear and returns to her book.

Riku and I exchange a glance and a shrug and he leans forward again. "Hey, you're a female of the scary and or teenaged persuasion, right?"

"Hn."

"If I make out with him in front of you, will you sell us the damned paint?"

She looks up again, "Why exactly is it that you need it so damn much?"

I lean on the counter desperately, "We must avenge my family's honor! Forever besmirched by that harlot of harlots R-"

"What are the odds of you people leaving without the spray paint?" she snaps, all shreds of patience gone.

"None. My eighteenth birthday is in a few weeks, we can wait." Riku lies smoothly.

Convenience Store Girl sighs and eyes the objects on the counter, then scans the barcode of the aerosol can, "Thirty-five dollars."

"The thing says fourteen-ninety-two!" Riku points out indignantly, indicating the thin, blue numbers.

"Thirty-five dollars."

Riku looks back at me and shrugs, pulling out a twenty as I produce a very folded fifteen (ten and five) from my pocket.

CSG takes the money and slides it into her own pocket, before pulling out a thin wallet and a thinner bit of plastic. This she slides in the slot, prints out the receipt and scrawls what is presumably her own name on the slip. She drops the items in a white plastic shopping bag with "Thank You" printed on it five times in increasingly garish red type and holds it out to Riku with a biting smile and a crisp, "Merry Christmas."

We take the bag, shrug, and leave.

* * *

_"Drunk on ego, truly thought I could make it right if I kissed you one more time to help you face the nightmare."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Down with the Sickness-Disturbed  
**

It was one of those weird mornings when all of a sudden you're just _awake_. Which are a lot shinier than the ten-hours-of-coffee-and-hot-showering and-your-_still_-not-"bright eyed and bushy-tailed," whatever that means, my mind is leaning toward bestiality... anyway, a lot shinier than those _other_ mornings. (Mornings; a term which here means early afternoon)

So I was just lying there, chilling with my instantaneously awake self, and Leon was kind of, totally, sleeping on top of me. So I'm wondering if I should dash over to the couch before he wakes up or just sort of deal with it.

Evidently I should have made the decision a couple minutes ago because he was making those uncertain twitches of someone who's waking up in the slow, dragging, much more painful way. He sat up and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, confirming my suspicion that I had indeed been drooled upon during the night. Oh. Joy. Well, that's gratitude for you.

He squinted at me in a rather unflattering way, "Cloud?"

"No, it's Sora. I just bleached my hair and grew a foot or two." _I'm also much more full of angst and incestuous feelings, go figure._

He kept on squinting and the joke didn't seem to be processing through his morning-and-hangover fogged brain. (Remember that whole drinking and kissing thing? Yeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, we at The Cloud Corp. were really hoping he _doesn't _remember, especially that last bit.)

"Sorry, sarcasm a no-go?" I was feeling very talkative. I think it was the easy wakeup and the fact that he was, you know, sprawled across my chest. Little things like that can throw one's brain out of whack.

"What the...?"

We were both mostly sitting up by then and I was struggling for an explanation that didn't start with, "Well, when you were drunk off your ass-" and go from there.

And then he punched me.

Which really, as Riku might put it, "was a pretty dick move" on his part. Yeah, lame.

I fingered my bottom lip which was feeling sort of swollen and numb and my fingers came away red-shiny with blood. I looked at him for a second or two, and he was just staring at me, in a still-confrontational way, not a "oh shit, let me apologize way."

So I did the only thing I could do. Namely, slug him soundly across the face.

I'll admit, not the smartest thing I've ever done. But, well, the day was starting out so nicely, and then he wakes up and punches me for absolutely no reason. So retribution sure as hell _seemed _like the best option at the time. And I'd probably do the same now.

And, being the rational, clear thinking young men we were, we promptly sat down and talked it out over tea and scones.

_Or _we somehow crashed through his door, down the hall, and had tumbled most of the way down the stairs by the time Sora and Riku appeared from wherever they were and started freaking out. Drama queens.

In a particularly sick twist of fate, that fight was almost exactly like the mock one in the attic the other day. The basic motions are the same, intent and attitude couldn't be more different. And in an even sicker way, I don't _really _mind the pain. It's terrifying and sort of wonderful how perfectly we fight together, how perfectly we played together like five-year old crack-heads, and fooled around together, and a million other things. It's the painful and exquisite salt-sting of eating chips with chapped lips.

But I'm just being stupidly poetic because I'm so stupidly in love with him.

It's still sort of wonderful though.

It's Riku who pulls me off. Sora gets Leon. I stare at him, Leon, and watch, mesmerized, the blood drip down from his eyebrow. I might feel guilty if my mouth weren't full of the copper taste of blood.

His eye is starting to swell.

"Would you two care to explain?" Sora's voice is flat and cold like I never knew it could be. And that I do feel guilty for. Because Sora is supposed to be the happy one, me and Leon are scarred and stupid so he doesn't have to be.

But Leon and I just stare at each other, and I barely feel Riku's hands tighten their grips on my arms and I keep tonguing the split in my lip with a childlike fascination.

It could have been eternities before I straighten and gently shake my arms, "It's okay. You can let go, I think I'm just going to leave now."

Sora and Riku confer silently, and slowly, so fucking slowly, Riku lets me go (Sora doesn't release Leon) and I walk stiffly toward the door like I don't have a fucking care in the world.

It's unseasonably cold outside and I stand in front of Fenrir and realize it holds no appeal for me and I don't want to go home and I don't want to go anywhere but I sure as hell don't want to stay here. I could get on a bus and just stay on it for the rest of forever. That would be okay.

"Do you want a ride?"

I turn and face Riku and then just nod because I think he gets it and speaking is another thing I'm not in the mood for just now.

He nods once, brusquely, "One sec. I should go tell Sora."

It takes an awful long time so I perch on Speed Racer's hood and just keep tonguing the split in my lip.

When Riku eventually re-emerges he's walking side-by-side with Sora and for a second the jealously is so painful I can barely see, so it takes me a second to notice the bag Sora's carrying which should look pretty familiar, considering it's mine.

"I got some of your stuff. CD's and such, thought you might want them," his voice isn't dead anymore, it's morose, which is so much worse.

Riku and Sora slide into the driver's and passenger's seats, respectively. "Shouldn't you stay with Leon?" I ask as he slides into the car.

His voice has the quality of steel flagpoles in winter, "At the moment, I couldn't care less about him."

So my bag and I take the back and when Riku asks me where I live I hear myself saying, "Could you take me to Aerith's?" And then giving her address.

Then Sora calls her, which I should've done, but it seemed like too much effort so I gave him my cell phone instead.

"Hey, Cloud, I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but could you tell us about what happened?" Sora asks gently after he's finished calling Aerith.

I stare past my reflection out the window, "Nothing."

* * *

_"Drunk on ego, truly thought I could make it right if I kissed you one more time to help you face the nightmare."_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Inside Out-Eve 6**

Gas station pit stops have become something to look forward to, how sad is that?

The intrinsic problem with not stopping for menial things like hotels or food is that other than things like food and sleep (which are obvious), becoming clean is quite difficult. I can't speak for Lark, but Dem and I have worked a system of splash-washing in gas station sinks, similarly, hair-washing in sinks. Do you know how dirty gas station bathrooms are? Particularly _male _gas station bathrooms. Precisely.

Another problem with not stopping is the unavoidable build up of energy that has no outlet but to yell at your fellow travelers. Consequently, we run around in circles like airheads whenever possible. The only good to come from this is the consequential drop in calories burned, resulting in a lower need of calories to be taken in. Food is relatively obsolete.

To quit whining, it's a nice day and no one has had an 'Attack of the Bitchies' (coined by Demyx) so far. If those aren't things to be glad for I don't know what are.

I'm crossing the parking lot to a lone picnic table by the edge of a random meadow (The mainland is fucking weird like that. People here wear socks and sandals, at the same time. It's fucked up.), when a vibration in my pants pocket startles me.

Glancing around to see if anyone noticed my yelp-and-jerk, I pull the offending cell phone out and read: CALL FROM _Marluxia_, with the accompanying picture of him looking homicidal with a knife. Ah, _memories_.

"Yo?"

"_Hey_," he turns the word into a come-on, like he's played Fable one too many times.

Silence.

"So, er, why are you calling?"

"Oh you know, just saying 'hi.' Asking how you been, wishing you a happy, happy birthday."

Er, say what now? "It's my birthday?" I ask with surprise as I settle myself atop the picnic table.

"Uh, _yeah_."

"Oh. Wow... huh."

He laughs, "So, how _have_ you been?"

"Oh you know, usual. Mostly trying not to kill Larxene, occasionally trying not to kill Demyx. Trying not to get killed by either of them. Thinking about killing you a fair amount." I stretch out on my back, using my free arm to block out the sun.

Marluxia's voice sounds stupid and flattered as he asks, "You've been thinking about me?"

"All the time, love." The sun's warm and it feels fan-fucking-tastic not to be crammed in the back of that damned van anymore.

"Well, glad to know it's mutual. You know,-"

His voice fades to a pleasant backdrop and I turn to the side just in time to see Demyx emerge, clean and dressed in fresh clothes. The golden light of the dying afternoon sun gilds him beautiful.

The phone is silent and I realize that Marluxia is probably waiting for me to respond.

I settle for a noncommittal, "Mmm," too sleepy and content to put much effort or thought into a response.

"So I take it that he looks extra-pretty today?"

"Doesn't he always? He's really quite-wait, how did-" Alarmed, I jerk into an almost sitting position and glance around, expecting to find him lurking in the nearby bushes.

"Please, babe, I can practically hear you drooling over the phone."

"... pretty sure drool isn't audible," is the best retort I can come up with. "And anyway, I'm quite sure I have no idea what you're talking about." I ignore the heat my face radiates and settle back on the table, lulled by warmth.

Marluxia laughs, the bastard, "Course not, Jay Gatsby."

"Bite me, Buchanan."

"I think that'd be Larxene actually, pretty sure I'm Nick..."

"And I repeat, _bite me_."

"Believe me, I would, but I'm rather far away at the moment."

I groan and lift my head off the table far enough to bash it back down again. "How did that book end anyway?" It seems more likely to end well than the current conversation.

I can practically see the sarcastic way Marluxia rolls his eyes, "Yeah, like I'd know. I spark noted that thing."

"Helpful."

"Always."

Arguing with him is pointless; he's too in love with himself to ever acknowledge defeat. We continue talking for a bit before he has to go because he has a _date_, like, an actual one. It took me a while to decide he was being serious.

"Lookie what I got," Demyx taunts joyously at me, holding out a bag of pixie sticks, I didn't even hear him come over. I make a grab for them but he grins and snaps them out of reach. And next thing I know I'm chasing him madly through the random meadow, shrieking and laughing like we're two years old.

I'm unprepared when he skids to a halt in the tall grass and I end up with my arms wrapped around his waist for balance as we stare up at what has to be the most fucking beautiful sunset I've ever seen. And I'm thinking that for this beaches are overrated and pine forests are _so_ much better.

"Shit," Demyx breathes. It takes me by surprise a little because he doesn't swear much.

"-just stare into the sun, and I see everything I've done, he murmur-sings and maybe it's my completely non functional brain or maybe-

Anyway, I find myself mumbling along without even really thinking about it, "I think I could have been someone, but I can't stop what has begun. When everything is said and done, and there is no place left to run; I think I used to be someone, now I just stare into the sun."

We're quiet for a bit as we watch the rest of it until the sky's a quickly darkening blue-grey.

"Since when do you know Nine Inch Nails?" I ask finally, and my arms are still around him but he hasn't said anything about it so neither will I.

He turns to face me and sort of lays one of his arms over mine in the process, balancing and what not. "Everyone slips up occasionally, maybe Treznor just accidentally made a good song once."

I pull a face at him and he leans against me and then he-he kisses me, quick and emotionless like clicking a mouse.

I blink at him and when I dare to breathe again, "What was that?"

He shrugs and squirms, "Just being friendly."

I nod slowly like I think he's a lunatic; which I do and he is. "R_i_ght."

He shrugs and settles back against me, staring off at where the sunset used to be. And I blame all my stupidity (which there seems to be rather a lot of) on his warmth and the fact that he smells fabric softener sweet. I turn him around, slide one hand around the back of his neck, keeping the other at his waist, and kiss him properly. Happily ignoring the fact that this A) will completely ruin our friendship because this time I don't have inebriation to blame (which is really a damn shame because it was such a good tradition to stick to) and B) is totally and stupidly and utterly and a million other words that end in –ly clichéd, thought it might _still_ be better than that night on the beach; which really does win the Cliché of the Year Award.

And it's blissful and lovely (as long as I keep ignoring the above) before Demyx has to and ruin it by remembering part A.

"That wasn't very friendly," he murmurs breathily before thunking his head onto my shoulder and mumbling, "Zexion, you really confuse the crap out of me."

I don't respond but shift my arms around a bit until we're pretty much standing there hugging in the middle of this completely random grassland thing by a grungy-ass gas station in the middle of nowhere.

"See, this is good. Hugging good."

"Kissing bad?"

"Kissing..." he squirms, "weird."

"Got it." I really need to stop doing this.

"And how does this work with the 'me being unattractive and not your type' thing?"

I'm about to go on a long lecture. It's either going to be about how people sometimes say things they don't really mean, people are hypocritical bastards, or, as a last resort, people are stupid and have "urges" and will occasionally simply jump whoever's closest. All of which are true. None of which are completely applicable to our situation. But my phone goes off in my pocket again and this time at least it's both of us who yelp and jerk. It's oddly comforting. CALL FROM _Larxene_.

"Hello?"

"Where are you? Have you seen Demyx?"

"Yeah, nice talking to you too, darling."

"Zexion!"

I sigh, "Sorry, dear. I'm in the middle of some random meadow thing, and yes, I am with Demyx, having just deflowered him in a bed or roses." I wink over at him with that last bit. He slaps himself heartily on the forehead and appears to be trying to play chameleon with the non-existent roses. He's so gullible; some one should really tell him there's no such thing as roses. (And every time you say that, a rose dies.)

"Do you ever try to make sense?"

"No, it's such a _common_ habit," I clean imaginary dirt out from underneath my nails. Demyx isn't the only who knows how to play pretend.

I'll bet Demyx three hundred that she rolled her eyes right then. "Whatever. Can you two get your asses over here? It's time to go."

"Ooh, but we're gonna miss the biker orgy!" I whine while Demyx looks at me like I've totally "flipped my lid," which I have, and it's sort of cute to think that wherever Larxene is she probably has a very similar expression.

"You are so-Just, get over here would you!"

"Yes, mistress," I sigh defeatedly and hang up.

Demyx looks at me like he's mildly afraid I'm contagious, "Time to go?"

"Yup." I sling arm around his shoulders. "You know, Demyx, I don't like your girlfriend." We start walking back toward the parking lot.

"What? You are on so m-"

"In fact, I think you need a new one."

"Huh? Oh, right. Gosh, you're _funny_."

"And well, I could be your girlfriend," I suggest in a tone that would make Marluxia damn proud.

"Please get off of me."

"I know that you like me, you know it's not a secret."

"I don't know you, why are you touching me?"

It's funny how many shades of red a single human face can turn.

"I gotta admit, I want to be your girlfriend."

"Please stop."

"But you're so fine, I want you mine! You're so-"

"Delicious?" He sounds like he's given up. Excellent.

"I think about you all the time, you're so... _addictive._" I'm hanging on him whispering in his ear as he walks determinedly away.

"What do I have to do to make you shut up? It's seriously not amusing."

"Don't you know what I could do to make you feel alright?" I ask in a tone that Marluxia would envy.

"If I kissed you, would you shut up?" Demyx asks desperately. We're at the edge of the parking lot now, passing by the picnic table, and tempting as it is (and isn't)-

"Yes, but you would also remind me of Marluxia. And you should really think about whether or not it's worth that."

"Not really. So, are you going to answer me?"

"Answer you? I'm the one proposing girlfriendship here."

He slaps himself in the forehead again. He's going to lose brain cells if he keeps doing that. "You know what, I'm just gonna ignore you for a while." His arm still wraps around my waist though as I move to walk beside him, reflexive habit I guess.

I shrug, "Whatever you want, princess."

"I-pri-you're impossible."

I give his shoulders a squeeze, "Damn straight. Hey, it's Larxene and she looks like she's about to have an aneurysm. Shiny!"

* * *

_"Drunk on ego, truly thought I could make it right if I kissed you one more time to help you face the nightmare."_

* * *

Absolutely** pointless singing** in the **Zexion** bit was **Sunspots-Nine Inch Nails** (which was a BGM at some point, also a really, really **awesome** song). **Random stupidity** later in the same section, **Girlfriend-Avril Lavigne** (mentioned in an earlier chapter).

**Divider** is **Sleeping Beauty** by **A Perfect Circle**, very **good** in a very **mopey** sort of way.

Might **re-edit** later, for now, am lazy and impatient.


	18. Tasted of Desire

I've decided that anyone who **actually** **buys **thewhole** "next chapter sooner"** thing I do every chapter is **adorably naïve**. That being said, the next chapter will be much **sooner**, or at least, hopefully, not posted three months from now.

**Beta'd, w00t!!**

* * *

_"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: 1,2,3,4-Feist **

Rikku called about five minutes after Cloudo left, I've got nothing better to do so I join in on the pity-party thing for Rinoa. It consists of Rinoa and myself, plus Rikku and Paine, and their other friend Yuna. Yuna is also Rikku's cousin and painfully nice and... soft, like she'd break if you looked at her wrong** (1)**. Which is essentially how Larxene's initial impression of me went, she told me once. If _I _think Yuna's a little... much, I wonder what Lark would say. Probably just rip her throat out. I miss my girl.

And everyone else, too, of course. I mean even innocent little Demyx has more bite to him. Well, Paine's almost... but not the same, and never enough.

Still, lying around eating junk food while watching movies with scantily clad boys and gals with guns, swords and other shiny bits of weaponry (Yuna's offerings, go figure) could be a _lot_ worse.

And I'm inescapably reminded of that line from one of Larxene and Zexion's mutual books, something about everyone "having security blankets, some people's are just pointier than others." And _that_ goes to Lark and _her_ shiny-pointies, and well, she's not quite as bad as Sweeney Todd, but they're pretty close.

I get off topic a lot.

I don't know if I'm supposed to sympathize with Rinoa, with the cheating and all, but I _do_ know that I like her a hell of a lot more than _Leon,_ and I never really got the great appeal of monogamy, so here I am.

I mean, yes, the Larxene-Demyx thing bothers me, but that's really more 'cause it's _Demyx_. I don't care about if she wants to fool around with guys, or people that aren't me, but it's _Demyx,_ and that's just messed up. I love him, don't get me wrong, just not in nearly the same way as Zexion does, hence my problem. And really, I'm over-reacting and –obsessing about the whole thing. And why angst when you _could_ watch the skanky heroine tearfully reunite with her skanky boyfriend at the end of the movie? Priorities, people.

Anyhow, we're barely past the opening credits of the next movie, where I'm told the skanky main characters must travel through time (sadly, without a phone booth) to rescue the not-as-skanky loves of their lives, when my cell blasts out Barbie Girl, thereby effectively ruining the mood and making me laugh to myself. It's Lark's ring tone and she hates it _so _much, it's ever so fun to watch. I excuse myself, slide out the door, and press the little green button. "Ja, guten Tag," I say because they're the first words that spill out and it doesn't matter much anyway (I think Zexion might be rubbing off on me).

"Tag," Larxene replies wearily; she sounds exhausted.

"What's up?" I wander down the hall and through the nearest open door.

"Oh you know," I can see one shoulder shrug, the way it shoves the cell phone which moves her hair which is looking limp and not nearly so neat and antennae-tastic as usual, "sorta bored, half-wondering how you are."

"Only half?" I tease, knowing she doesn't really care and even if she did, due to brainwashing or personality swapping, she wouldn't admit to it.

"Yeah, the other half is wondering where the fuck Zex and Dem have wandered off to."

"You let them go by themselves? I'm surprised at you, dear." I can pretend like it doesn't hurt. I'm a fantastic liar after all. It's a nice enough room, in a very magazine-sterile way.

"I was distracted by the need to get gas."

"Ahh, you guys going somewhere?"

"Nnn, yeah. Movies. You know that one, with the thing and the thing, and that guy who was in that other one with that other, _other_ thing and all the shotguns. You know the one."

"Could you be vaguer if you tried?" I half-snap because I guess it hurts more than I'd really like.

"Maybe, you probably don't want to find out."

"Fair enough."

"I miss you."

...

Well, talk about non sequitors. I hear her brain fizz like she's contemplating whether or not to staple something onto the end to dampen the significance of the words. She doesn't. The awkward two seconds long pause takes a lifetime.

"I miss you, too."

Lark clears her throat harshly, "So, how _are_ those mainlanders anyway?"

I groan, "Don't ask me. This morning they were pretty good, this afternoon they were full of suck, which very nearly lead to me ODing on peanut butter cookies and Sarra Manning, and now they're heading back to the realm of 'okay.' In other words, hurt them until they make sense."

"Sounds like fun," she agrees. "It's all pretty boring around here. Nothing much to do."

"You at least have people who are bipolar and disturbingly repressed." It's a fair point, hell, a _very_ fair point.

I can see the shrug again, "Hmm, between bipolar and psychotic, I'll take psychotic. Where the hell _are_ they anyway?"

"Who?"

"Zexion and Demyx, they disappeared... we're going to be late to the movie now."

"Movie? Which one?"

"One of the mainland student ones they like to share, Dem chose it, I didn't bother to check it myself."

"Want me to hang up so you can call them?"

"Er, sure." She sounds distracted. "I'll call you back in a bit, Nam. Love you." The phone clicks dead.

I flip my cell phone shut and glance around the room I wandered into.

I examine a picture on the bedside table, nosy as I am; Yuna, it's her house, and a blond boy who clearly spends all his time at the beach. Well, out of doors, but considering the specific boy, at the beach. Who'd've thought Yuna knew Tidus?

It makes for a funny comparison to the picture I've got by my bed. She has her and her boyfriend, question mark-question mark, I've got one of those pictures they take on the roller coasters. Normally, I think those things are crap but this one was so very telling about our respective personalities I had to buy it.

Demyx is on the end with his arms in the air and his eyes squeezed shut and you can _hear _him whooping with delight. I'm next to him gripping the arms of the chair tightly and trying not to die, if I recall correctly. Then there's Lark, who's laughing her ass off and listening to whatever Zexion's telling her. Zex, for his part, is sitting looking perfectly bored and normal, despite the fact we were upside down, with his arms crossed and muttering whatever into Larxene's ear.

Sweet Mother of Turpentine, I hate roller coasters.

Anyway, I wander back into the main room and watch some random scenes of CGd badassery.

* * *

_"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."_

* * *

**Sora BGM: Tank! (Again)**

It turns out master plans take a while to enact so we spend an hour or four waiting in Speed Racer a street and a few houses away from our destination. If I had realized how much waiting this would entail, I would've changed the plan, brilliant as it may be. As it is, we get bored after the first hour of Bomberman and there isn't much to do after that but twiddle our thumbs and try to find something to talk about that isn't what we're about to do or how my brother is a drunken idiot and really, Cloud could do so much better. (Pretend I never said that.)

Eventually, around two a.m., we sneak through the woods and down the street and I sort of wished I'd known we were going to do this before leaving the house because my white T-shirt is uncomfortably visible. Whatever.

We stand in front of Rinoa's house; all the lights are off and we just look at each other, making sure we're ready for this.

"Sora, I want you to know this is the stupidest plan ever, and I hate you. But I'm only doing this because I love you."

Talk about mixed messages. "Er, thank you."

"Anytime. You want me to do the spray paint and you do the-"

"Sure." We parcel out the purchases from the crinkly white bag. I procrastinate by watching Riku approach the front door like he's afraid he'll step on a land mine any second.

For my part, I just chuck eggs at everything, mostly non-bedroom looking windows. I try a couple passes with the toilet paper but it's harder than it looks so I just give up and shove it back in the bag. When, I'm out, I skirt around the house and return to Riku, glad that the Rinoa family didn't feel that buying those automatic deer-light things was necessary. Quite glad, really.

Riku's standing back by the road edge, admiring his handy work: a massive, elaborate letter A (in an appropriate shade of "permanent alizarin crimson" (and what the hell happened to Roy G. Biv?)) across the front door and a few smaller ones on the ground floor windows.

I look it over and nod approvingly, "Sexy."

"Isn't it though? I think-" he stops, looking horrified.

"What?" I whip my head from side to side looking, when I see it; an upstairs light has been turned on. I let out a high, whimpering squeak while Riku grabs my hand and yanks. We run down the street and the slap of our sneakers on the pavement has got to be audible everywhere, even those islands Naminé is from.

When we get to the small patch of woods dividing the streets where Rinoa lives and Speed Racer is parked, Riku halts behind a tree and peaks out around it. I shift and fidget behind him, far too aware of the glaring brightness of my shirt.

"'Kay, c'mon. I don't see anyone but-"

We walk calmly like we've done absolutely nothing wrong and calmly get back into Speed Racer and drive away slowly, Riku not daring to floor it until we're a mile or two away. After half an hour or so of frantic driving Riku pulls over to the side of whatever street we're on and shuts off the engine.

**Cosmic Dare (Pretty With a Pistol)**

We sit for a moment, and the night is so silent it's tangible. Then, in synchrony, we look over at each other and laugh until my stomach hurts and I feel like breathing normally is a thing of the past, never to happen again. Because near-hysterical panic over grade school level plans is really high-larious.

He hooks his fingers in the hair at the back of my head and presses his forehead to my neck, still shaking with silent laughter. Grinning, I run my hands through his way-too-perfect hair.

"Hey, Sora?"

"Mm."

"Will you marry me?"

A million and one responses rush to stumble out of my mouth and they all get caught in the door. "Henh?"

"If you don't want to, you can just _say _it."

"Well, of course I _want_ to, but-"

"Really, So, it's no big-"

"Ri, shut up! Of course I want to marry you!"

"Ah, well then... Are you sure? 'Cause what if you go off to college and meet someone better or what if you get sick of me or what if-"

"Riku. Shut your pie hole."

He opens his mouth and looks ready to say something else but shuts it smartly and beams at me for a second before dragging me forward and smashing his lips happily into mine.

* * *

_"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Master and Servant-Depeche Mode**

8:30 PM. Roxas' bed. Just like always, again.

Though for the good of the record, it did take us a while to get here; what with all those highly distracting detours we just _had_ to take. The result of which is a newfound fondness for Roxas' front door and dining room table, really going to have to disinfect that one.

But that's all irrelevant for the moment; the important thing being, but of course, Foxy Roxy. I trace the black lines sprawled over his skin, 'Du weckst das Feuer in mir.' Really, Roxas, do I?

He stirs; rolling over sleepily and staring at me in a questioning way.

"I like your back," I tell him softly.

"Ngg... Naminé..."

My hand freezes of its own accord; _Naminé has seen, and touched, my Roxas without a shirt. Axel smash!_

"Huh. Did she now?" I try to keep my tone neutral, but from the way he tenses I know I failed.

"You do know she's gay, right?" his voice losing the scratchy quality of the just-woken-up.

"Ahh, well. That's alright then."

"So, are you going to stop acting like a jealous ass now?"

"... maybe... It's not like your jealousy-free, Mister Public Service Announcement."

Grunt. Great, now he's sulking, unless of course-

I roll over and settle on his back, "You do realize, of course, that now that you're _officially_ my boyfriend, I'm going to expect a lot more from you."

I leave enough room for him to roll over, the better to stare at me suspiciously my dear. He waits politely for me to continue.

"For instance, I will expect no less than two dozen red roses for my birthday and other such events. And the chocolates they sell in heart-shaped boxes around Valentine's, I want those, too."

"Is that so?" He's got this look on his face like he has no idea whether I'm joking or not.

"And then, of course, the just-because presents, at _least_ once a month."

"Naturally."

Damn, he hasn't cracked yet. "Poetry. I demand it!"

He looks like he's trying to swallow a frog, "You want me to write you poetry."

I nod effusively, "Yes, most definitely."

"Would you care to give a demonstration?"

I think about it, I really do, for all of a tenth of a second, which is far longer than the amount of time needed to make my decision, which is to say, a very emphatic 'no.'

"Nope, that would be cheating. And besides, there's one more thing you have to do."

He rolls his eyes, "And that would be?"

I lean in closer, "You sure you want to know?"

"Sure, why not?"

"I want you to meet my mother."

* * *

_"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."_

* * *

**Random Apology Bonus Side Story Thing, Written In The Long Lost Third Person, How I Missed Thee… II**

**Dream of You-Schiller mit Heppner**

It was the last year Zexion did a summer camp type-thing. He'd never really liked them anyway, and he'd come to the conclusion that he'd rather lie around the house or hang out with friends than spend a couple weeks in a crowded dorm, filled with people that bored him to tears. Really, the only good bit was pretending to be someone he wasn't. He was loud, outgoing, and chipper. He acted a bit like Demyx on a good (bad) day, actually. (At this point, he and Demyx were pretty good friends.) Of course, he would manage to slip and forget at least once and be the cynical bastard he was born to be. His excuse was, he really hated to use but his brain failed him (again) and couldn't think of anything better, man-PMS. And everyone, whether or not they bought it, would forgive him, because "Zeke" was, all told, a pretty cool guy. (Zexion's father was notoriously lazy when it came to paper work, he only ever wrote Zexion's first initial. It should be noted that the father had been adamantly against the name in the first place, but the mother was stubborn so he yielded, like he always did.)

This year, the last year, was different in that there was what could only be referred to as sloppy one-night-stands. None of which he particularly wanted or even enjoyed (there always seemed to be something missing), but the deal was always sweetened with pot or beer or cigarettes that numbed him enough to be apathetic, and well, it was alright, just not all it was cracked up to be. They were also things he was too young to buy, and lacked a decent fake ID, one where he didn't look like a Hispanic woman; Ifrit, _that_ had been a good waste of ten dollars.

He really had never liked these things, summer camps, pre-college programs, summer study things, whatever. But when he was a child, too young to defend himself, the father had sent him off, on the first of what would be many summer excursions. Because that was simply what one did with one's children. The fact that Zexion's father had always been more than a little uncomfortable around his son didn't have anything to do with it, naturally.

But now he was free. He'd returned two or so days before the start of the school year, and had spent those sleeping (stupid time zones) and buying utterly useless supplies like notebooks, binders and pens, who would ever need _those_? The result, he hadn't seen his friends in about a month.

The first day of school, he sits on the (shaded) section of wall in the courtyard which was were they had a tendency to congregate in the mornings. Larxene showed up first. She sat beside him and gave him a look that said quite clearly she was very, very close to hurting something, or preferably some_one_.

"I know it sounds sick to say this, but sometimes I really _hate_ summer vacation," she snapped by way of greeting.

"Having fun with the family again?" Zexion tugged the ear buds out of his ears and tucked The Catcher in the Rye, a very late bit of summer reading, back in his bag.

She grimaced, "Demyx has three younger siblings. We went to the beach. Every single one of them managed to have some life-ending crisis every. Freaking. Day."

"Sorry about that. At least there aren't many mirrors at the beach." the conversation effortlessly morphed into their comfortable half-mocking banter, capturing Zexion's attention far more easily than JD Salinger's prose had.

When Naminé arrived the conversation dissolved into Zexion listened to his music whilst the two females talked about whatever in their happy state of pre-marital bliss.

Zexion, bored and idle, a dangerous condition for anyone to be in, scanned the horde of teens gathered in the courtyard dreading the bell that would mean the start of first period.

His eyes settled, finally, on a particularly large cluster, consisting primarily of athletic males, particularly the boy near the center who seemed to be saying of great import.

Mr. Popular glances over at us and waves, Naminé and Larxene smile and wave back, and Zexion starts to wonder if his friends' brains had been rewired while he was gone. He was coming toward them now.

Zexion, being quite pessimistic on the whole, had never expected to fall in love; he didn't even believe in it. The lead singer of The Darkness could sing about it as much as he liked, Zexion wasn't buying it.

As little as he expected love, he expected the kiss even less. But still, there it was. And somewhere in the four point three times ten to the third seconds Zexion fell, and fell hard. And thus, Zexion Karenin found himself in love with a stranger. Because it couldn't possibly be Demyx.

Demyx was scrawny and pale and in possession of a fluffy light brown mop of hair. This person was golden brown (the exact color Zexion liked his toast) and wiry and blond. His hair was styled. It couldn't possibly be Demyx, but it was.

It was Demyx whose calloused hands clapped Zexion's face, and Demyx whose chapstick-smooth lips were pressed to Zexion's.

And just like that, watching Demyx administer his new form of greeting on Naminé and Larxene, Zexion knew what had been missing from all those summer hook-ups.

* * *

_"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."_

* * *

**Sora BGM: Alive-Gravity Kills**

With Cloud safely at Aerith's, where the-dumbass-who-is-not-related-to-me can't fuck things up more, Riku and I have very little choice but to return to my place. Well, okay, we have a choice, we could go 'round to his, but I want to have a few words with my not-sibling before moving out for the duration of his stupidity, which could be a while. Plus, all my clothes and stuff are there.

Riku drums his fingers on the wheel as we wait at a traffic light that seems to go on forever, "So, what now?"

I sigh and face the front as the light turns green.

"Now, we go back to the not-mine house and briefly interrogate my not-brother. We then grab some of my stuff. Tomorrow, we talk to Cloudo."

"Briefly interrogate your bro-your not-brother?"

"Yup. Fun questions like, 'Why did you hit cloud, you ass-hat?'"

"Ass-hat?"

"_Oh, yes_."

"What if he doesn't want to talk about it?"

"Then he should have thought of that before going postal on his best friend."

"Do you think- He was- They were pretty... close... when we left, you don't think Cloud could've-"

"No, Cloud wouldn't have taken advantage like that. And even if he did-I don't know, it's not important. We can work this out, we _will_ work this out."

* * *

_"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."_

* * *

**(1)**I'm aware that the Rikku and Yuna used in KHII are from (design-wise at least) FFX-2, but frankly, that game disgusts me. So I pretend it's FFX (which I actually liked) Rikku and Yuna, and Paine can come from FFX-2 because she isn't... well, an air-headed bimbo. Or she just hides it better. (Also, she wasn't _in_ FFX.)

* * *

Yeah, I know, it feels remarkably like a filler chapter. Gosh, I wonder why. Anyhow, the next chapter will _possibly_ be Plotty McPlottsypants, which is to say, no, I never did make it past third grade. I'M AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL DROP-OUT, AUGGHH!!

**Divider** is from a **poem** (Fire and Ice) by **Robert Frost**, not to be confused with the George RR Martin's saga of epicness, A Song of Ice and Fire, that's different.

(cough) Kindly leave a review on your way out, :D.

* * *


	19. Blowjob Boy!

No, **you aren't hallucinating**, I did **indeed write** a chapter in only slightly more than a week.

* * *

_"When you're here I don't care what you say... as long as you say it to me."_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Kennedy-Kill Hannah**

"I want you to meet my mother."

"Oh. Really?" His lips twitch as he tries not to laugh.

"Yeah. Really." I maintain the serious face for all of five seconds before I fall over laughing. It's good to hear Roxas laugh.

"I've decided something," I announce as I flop over to lie perpendicular to him with my head on his stomach.

"Mmm?"

"I think you like me."

Roxas snorts, "Yeah. Whatever you say."

"If you don't, what was the point of your Public Service Announcement? It's not like there aren't any guys other than me willing to hop into bed with you."

Roxas thinks this over for a few seconds, finger-combing my, very snarled by this point, hair. "That may well be true," he says eventually, "but you're already so well trained. And training another one... that takes a lot of time and effort."

"Training? What the hell?"

"Well, you know... "

"Er, obviously _not_, thank you very much."

I'm pretty sure he shrugs. "Well, you're good at knowing when to talk, and when to not talk, and when you do talk it's not boring, and you're good in bed, so you see, it all jus-"

"_Good_?! I'm just _good_ in bed. I'll have you know I am _fantastic_ in bed! Hmph."

"Really, are you now?"

"Yes. Now and forever."

"Prove it."

"Oh. I will."

* * *

_"When you're here I don't care what you say... as long as you say it to me."_

* * *

**Sora BGM: The Hand That Feeds-NIN**

We get back to see Leon sitting dejectedly on the stairs, right where we left him. His left eye has swollen shut in the time we've been gone. The skin on his knuckles is shiny pink and raw looking.

I'd care if I wasn't so damn mad at him.

I stand in front of him, arms crossed, glaring daggers. "_So_, would you care to explain?"

"It's none of your damned business, Sora. This is between me and Cloud." His voice is raspy and abused sounding.

"You are, unfortunately, my brother, therefore I don't give a damn whether or not it's my business. What would you do if I did that to Riku?"

One gunmetal grey eye snaps from staring straight ahead, to Riku, and back. "I'd give you a fucking pat on the back."

It's after I see the blood he spat on my shoes that I realize I punched him.

"Feel better?" he snaps, prodding around for loose teeth.

"Actually... yes." And I do, except for the stinging of my knuckles, and he doesn't need to know about that. Suddenly, I'm very glad I continued with martial arts training long after Leon had quit. "So, care to explain what the fuck happened?"

"Not really, no."

Riku's shifting distracts me; if I was glaring daggers earlier, Riku was glaring claymores.

Back to Leon, who's crumpled over, head in his hands, "I really just don't know, okay?"

"How the fuck do you not remember?!"

Leon sits up, righteous in his anger, "I was really fucking smashed yesterday, if you remember?" His gaze shifts to Riku for a splitsecond. "And I remember-" He turns a brilliant shade of red, matches last night's spray paint, actually. "And this morning... I was on... but I couldn't remember... and then anger made the hangover fade, so I just-"

Punching him was a conscious decision this time. "You are _such_ an ass-hat," I hiss before leaving. I slam the door behind me so hard one of the panes of glass shatters.

The effect is sadly ruined when the door swings open a second later to admit Riku.

"You were right, Riku mutters, "he _is_ an ass-hat, but... are you sure you're not taking this whole thing with Cloud a little too personally?"

"Not in the least, why?"

"You just punched your brother, your _older_ brother, twice."

I stop walking and whirl to face him, "Do you think he didn't deserve it?"

"No, I agree with that. It's just-it seems to me that he was right when he said it was none of your business, and who are you to judge anyway?"

"... have you been watching Death Note?"

"What's Dea- Never mind. You're missing the point."

"Then why don't you instruct me, oh knowledgeable one. What _is_ the point?"

"The point is-you just... Bros before hos!"

"Bros before hos?" I ask incredulous, "That's your point?"

"The gist of it, yeah. It's-"

"-precisely what I did. If you think about it, you'll find Leon more of a ho and Cloudo is more the brother. I followed your little maxim, just not from the biological standpoint."

* * *

**Axel Cont'd**

"Hey, Axel?"

"Damn it, I was almost asleep, Rox."

"... sorry."

The bed dips as he shifts position and suddenly there's a hand on my chest.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice sounds smaller, the uncertainty is adorable.

"Shoot."

"I've got you trained, but what about you? It goes for you, too, the "other guys willing to hop into bed with you" thing."

About a year of this relationship of ours and he wants to ponder the 'why's and 'wherefore's _now_.

I cover a yawn, "I dunno, because I burn and love the tyranny."

"So... masochism then?"

"Only my plague thus far I count my gain, that he that makes me sin awards me pain."

"Masochism."

"Sure. If you say so." I reach out to fluff his hair and end up stabbing at his forehead instead. "You really need to read more." **(1)**

* * *

_"When you're here I don't care what you say... as long as you say it to me."_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: Like Humans Do-David Byrne  
**Roxas has decided that Axel and I should do some "bonding," which explains why the three of us are wandering aimlessly in downtown Hollow Bastion.

Larxene called a few minutes ago. It was an odd conversation; she kept asking me weird questions about where I was. I haven't the faintest clue why, she's still in Destiny Islands.

"Ho-l_y _shit!" exclaims Roxas at the same time Axel gasps, "Oh, Ifrit, _please_ burn out my eyes!" I about-face and-

Baby Pink Death Van!

That's the only way to describe it. I feel bad for the poor idiots inside, 'cause that van has got to be the most sickening thing I've ever seen.

Two blonds get out. They stagger on unsteady legs, like they haven't walked in days. Something in the way they stare towards the sky like they're witnessing a miracle puts me in mind of The People Under the Stairs.

"Oh, _shit_!" Those aren't just idiots, those are _my_ idiots. A third figure appears from the other side of the van, he looks too much like Zexion to be anyone _but_ Zexion.

The blonds, Dem and Lark, are still gazing wildly about when Zexion, calm as ever, points a solemn finger at me.

And just like that they gather at the endpoint of the crosswalk, (im)patiently waiting for the little red hand to turn into a little walking figure. It does, and they surge forward in terrifying synchrony. Demyx gets to me first. He lifts me off the ground and spins in a wobbly circle.

Lark gets a hug and quick kiss that leaves her mouth shiny with my lip gloss.

Zexion... I pounce on before he can back away. He hugs me tightly for a second before detaching me pretty quickly. I lean on Larxene with my arm around her waist and hers around me shoulders. Time to do introductions, ooh, _fun_!

"The blond is Roxas. The Redhead is-"

"Shit on a stick! I _know _you!"

The redhead is interrupting introductions to stare and point at Zexion. Zexion is-

"You gave me a blowjob in the art room storage closet!"

-blurting out things he'll regret greatly later.

"You were the camp slut, I thought it would get me into your pants!" Axel explains in a rush, his voice an octave or so higher.

"It would have, had the art teacher not come back," Zexion rationalizes. "Wait a sec, what the hell do you mean by 'camp slut'?!"

"You'd sleep with anyone for vodka and cigarettes."

Zexion's glance slides down and right, "Oh... right. _That_."

_And then Bahamut said, 'Let there be awkward silence!' _

_And there was. And it was awkward. Until-_

Roxas makes a slight gagging noise, "Oh, _fuck_, does anybody have a toothbrush handy?"

"Baby, you know I'm a spitter!" Axel protests.

_And _then _Bahamut, who was a bit of a jerk, said, 'Let there be _nauseated_, awkward silence!' _

_And there was._

_And it was both nauseated _and_ awkward._

"So, anyway, the redhead is Axel. And over here we have Demyx, Larxene, and the camp slut. Whoops, I meant Zexion."

He rolls his eyes, "Oh, blow me."

* * *

_"When you're here I don't care what you say... as long as you say it to me."_

* * *

**Demyx BGM: Perfect Enemy-Tatu**

We wandered around downtown for a few more hours after the most pain filled introductions ever. Zeke (A.K.A., the camp slut, A.K.A., Zexion) and Axel spent most of dinner and the wandering itself together.

Together in that way too close for _my_ comfort. Together in that way where no one else has any grasp of the Spanish language besides "qué" and the lyrics to La Cucaracha, which would make you think they wouldn't have bothered whispering, but they did. Together in that way where they could have been confused with teenage girls, the way they whispered in each other's ears and then laughed quietly behind their hands.

Not that I minded. Roxas was just as entertaining in his short, temperamental, pole-up-the-ass way. Damned if I know what Naminé sees in him. And, of course I couldn't simply ask her because she was busy with Larxene.

But really, I didn't mind. I especially didn't mind the car ride home where I sat in the back, along with Larxene and Axel and Zexion who spent most of the ride "home" laughing _en español_. I found myself missing Shiva, but we'd lost her an hour two back.

It's after midnight when we get "home," a word which here means the palatial estate of Naminé's cousin's friend, and the front door's locked. So then Nam calls Roxas who calls some kid named Sora who shows up a half-hour later with a silver-haired pretty boy and a key.

The key was our friend. The pretty boy seemed capable of two things, driving and sleeping. Sora, we discover, is the adorable and hyperactive younger brother who doesn't mind having random strangers using his house like a hotel, or so it would seem. There's bound to be a secret army of live-in maids; the place was scarily clean, like _Zexion_ clean.

Anyway, Sora then guides us to the "guest wing" and says he'll give the full tour later, if we'd like. He'd pointed out the kitchen when we first walked in and between that and the bed, I should be fine for a week or so.

The only problem is I can't fall asleep. I'm exhausted and frustrated and getting more and more of the two as the seconds crawl by.

The sounds of running water from the bathroom that connects to Zexion's room is not an apt replacement for the continual hum of Shiva's engine or the ever-present noise that comes from just having children in the house.

My half-dead brain finds enough energy to set itself on permanent repeat until I'm stuck with looped tapes of Zexion and Axel and _Zexion_, and all the things they'd said, mostly just the English though.

_**.**__..sleep with anyone for vodka and cigarettes..._

I roll onto my back.

_... camp slut..._

On my side again.

_... would have, had the art teacher not come back..._

That's it. I give up.

I kick off the covers and march into the bathroom. Zexion glances up sharply, his mouth- _gave me a blowjob_ – full of toothbrush and –paste. He acknowledges my presence with a sharp nod and a glance that gets no farther than my shoulder. I lean in the doorframe and wait for him to finish.

"Can't sleep?" he asks.

_...sleep with anyone..._

I consider shrugging but just stay silent.

He goes through the door to his room and leaves the door open behind him. I move forward to lean in that doorframe.

I stay silent as he tosses one of his bags on the bed and digs around in it, eventually dragging out what I assume are pajamas.

_...get me into your pants..._

He strips off his shirt with his back to me.

I swallow thickly and wish I had words to say.

"Is this about what Axel said?"

My silence angers him.

"Or is it just Axel? Damn it, Demyx, could you just-" he finally looks at me, "say something?" he finishes in a tone so quiet I almost don't hear it.

Off the doorframe, I'm standing in front of him; we keep our silence. His skin feels cool to mine when I poke him underneath the left clavicle. The skin yields and my fingers slide to the end of the bone.

"Demyx?" His brow is furrowed. He's confused.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

* * *

_"When you're here I don't care what you say... as long as you say it to me."_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Schwarzer Tod-Wumpscut**

"I've decided something. I'm mad at you," Roxas announces as he throws the car into reverse, having dropped off Naminé and co with Sora and Riku.

"And why is that, Roxas my sweet?"

"You're a hypocrite. You get mad and jealous because Naminé and I are _friends_, but you and _Blowjob Boy_ spend all dinner having nerd foreplay, or whatever the fuck you guys were doing."

"Nerd foreplay?"

"Oh, c'mon. You two were waxing lyrical over mile-thick books written ages ago by a bunch of dead guys, that or giggling in Spanish. What the hell would _you _call it?"

"Huh, you'd think that someone as valedictorian, summa cum laude as you would have more of an appreciation of fine literature."

"Well, if that's what you want, I can turn around and you can go and screw Blowjob Boy to your heart's content."

"Darling, if I wanted to be screwing Zeke, I wouldn't be in this car with you."

"Masochist."

"We both know that's not the reason I'm here."

"Fuck," He stomps on the brakes hard enough to make me glad for the chest strap. He then turns in a way that makes me similarly grateful for car doors.

Sadly it takes a few seconds before I recognize the street where I've lived for all my life.

"Are we going to my house?"

"_You_ are going to your house. I am going home to work."

"So, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Probably not. I think I need some time... apart."

"Apart like breaking up, or like a hiatus? Can you put a hiatus on a relationship?"

"It doesn't matter at the moment, I meant the first one."

* * *

**(1) **Keats then Shakespeare. I dunno why but, book!Axel makes me happy...

* * *

_"When you're here I don't care what you say... as long as you say it to me."_

* * *

Please **don't kill me,** akuroku fans. It needed to be done... for some reason.

**Divider** is from **Clone Your Lover** by **Zeromancer**, because they pwn.

**Random Fact**: Originally, Demyx and Axel were friends from camp, but when I was writing the scene I remembered Zexion's at-camp skankiness. The ending result of that being what you read. I maintain that having him sleep with Roxas and have Axel and Dem be friends would be much more hilarious, but the damned "plot" (using the term very loosely) wouldn't allow it.

Review, svp?

* * *


	20. Clavicle

_"I want to wake up naked next to you, kissing the curve in your clavicle."_

* * *

**Demyx BGM: C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips – Ok Go  
**  
"Can I stay here tonight?"**  
**

Despite how it may seem... sleeping with Zexion isn't weird at all. I think nothing of taking up half his queen-size bed during sleepovers. The words of some candy-colored hedgehog aren't capable of doing a thing to change that, because it's still Zexion, no matter how many people he's slept with (in the hot, hot sex way) for "booze and smokes." (Which reminds me, I need to talk to him about his sense of self-worth.)  
None of which means there isn't a terrifying half second where I'm _sure_ he'll sneer and ask to see the vodka/cigarettes. But he doesn't, so that's okay.

He nods. My fingers, still at the junction of clavicle and humerus, pull him into a hug and I tell him I love him. Damned if I know why but I do (tell him, that is), I mean, I love him and all, in the friend-way, but I don't know why I have to go and _tell him_ about it. I mean, it's well, pardon the expression, but it's pretty... _gay_. Not like that's a bad thing, gay, but, well, I'm not, he might well, okay, is- but I'm not. And, anyway-

"I-love you, too." His voice is muffled like I'd tried to smother him with a pillow, rather than express my affections; it makes it hard to believe him, but I do my best anyway.

And after that picture of a Hallmark moment we change, well, strip (just to add to the gay), into our pajamas and that's awkward as hell.

And everything _sounds_ louder. The sound of cotton brushing over skin as I pull off my shirt is deafening, but it's the biting sound made when I unzip my pants that makes me flinch the worst. Awkward as hell, every second of it, except oddly enough, when we slide beneath the sheets side-by-side. The comfort of the familiar takes over when Zexion flops over onto his stomach with his face turned away from me and I play with his hair when he falls asleep before I do, just like every other time.

God, we are _so gay_.

* * *

I wake up first, nothing new there. I'm using his chest as a pillow, not much new there either. I start to sit up, still in a sleepy haze, but I'm caught by Zexion's mouth, something about the way the light's hitting it makes me clueless as to what it is I'm looking at. As soon as I recognize it I wish I hadn't, simply for ruining the magic. I replace my head and reset my eyes. I manage in the end, but it's not the same. So I finish sitting-up and scan Zexion's purple-gray hair for any surviving braids. There aren't any, nothing new there.

But still, it's hard to tear my eyes away from his mouth, a fascinating blend of his pale gold skin and the slightest tint of pink.

And then I find myself thinking about what his lips feel when they're pressed to mine. And well, it isn't curiosity but something akin to it that makes me test my memory. I didn't think that he would wake up. I also didn't consider how very sketchy what I'm doing is. Which makes me very, very stupid on two counts. Luckily, Zexion doesn't flip. He just blinks at me once or twice, and then, "Demyx?" He's smiling in the most radiant way, like I just made him the happiest man alive. And then our mouths meet again and it doesn't even occur to me to mind being rolled onto my back.

We keep it sweet and lazy; everything you'd expect from a wake-up kiss, except for the odd lack of morning-breath.

It's weird, but I'm unhappy when he pulls away. I mean, I know I was enjoying it, not in a hard-on-y way, but sad, and sort of empty, like I was being deprived of something I _needed_, was not what I expected to be feeling. Like I said, weird.

It's okay though, I'm content to lie on my side with him pressing lightly against my back.

But something _is_ bothering me and I almost can't help but ask, "Can I ask you a possibly highly awkward question?"

He yawns hugely, "Shoot."

"The people you slept with, at camp, were they always guys, or were there girls, too?"

"... well, you were right about the awkward," he admits wryly. "Mostly guys, in my experience they're less awkward about the casual sex thing. That, and I don't think I'm the kind of guy most girls want."

I process this. "Okay, can I ask another?"

He nods and shifts a little, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"With the guys, were you on top or bottom?"

He cough-chokes, "Shit, Dem, you really do go straight for the awkward."

"You _said_ I could," I remind him guiltlessly.

"My fault, is it? Mostly on top."

"What about with Axel?"

"I dunno, we didn't actually-"

"Well, what do you think?"

"Dunno, not really something I want to ponder at the moment."

"What about you and me?"

"Well, I _am_ the big spoon."

"You could roll over."

He mutters something into my back.

"That's like selling someone for dope-soap?"

"That's like _telling _someone to _drop the soap_."

"Ahh."

"That's also a no."

"S_o_ you're not letting me top, then?"

"No."

"Se-xy, you're me-ean."

"I know. Go back to sleep now."

* * *

_"__I want to wake up naked next to you, kissing the curve in your clavicle."_

* * *

**Axel BGM: Lonely-Akon (Only the first twenty seconds)/The Electric Version-The New Pornographers**

So I'll admit it. I'm almost tempted to curl up with a pillow or favorite stuffed animal (you can tell my favorites by the burn marks) and cry for an hour. Almost. Except for the fact that no, no I wasn't, because I am Axel Thomas Targaryen, and I do not cry.

Except for when I was kid and fell off my bike. Skinned knees hurt, okay?

So, _not_ being tempted to cry left me with rather little in the way of Traditional Break-Up Things To Do. While the punching bag idea does have some appeal, I lack a punching bag, but then again, what I lack in punching bags, I make-up for in siblings. Why? (Because my parents continue to go at it like bunnies.)

"Because I'm Axel _fucking_ Targaryen and-!"

"Your name is Alex and I've told you not to swear. Go outside and let your brothers beat you up, I don't want you angsting in the house." Please allow me to introduce you to my gentle and caring mother.

"What do you mean 'beat me up'? I can kick their little asses, they're, like, ten!"

She tucks silver-blond hair behind her ears and rolls her eyes. "I've seen the bruises and you know very well that they're thirteen."

Well now that the jig is up, "There's two of them and they think in unison, the fuck am I supposed to do against that?"

She raps her knuckles on my head, "No swearing! Now get your ass outside already!"

* * *

_"You're breaking up with me?"  
_

Lying in the grass, I come to a simple conclusion.

_"Not much to break. We were never _really_ together."  
_

Roxas is a bitch

_"Come again?"  
_

So there's no reason why I can't make him _my_ bitch.

_"I said it at Leon's the other day - _together like fucking_."_

The tough part is just figuring out how.

_"So, we're what then, fuck-buddies?"  
_

If I act like I don't want him, he might think it's the truth.

_"Essentially, yes, I suppose so."  
_

So I can't hang out with Zeke too much, because Roxas is already having jealousy problems there, which, at another time, would be most hilarious and awesome. Currently it is in fact the cause of my problem.  
So I have to watch out for that. A shame really, that guy is _awesome_. I just don't want to fuck him which is brilliant because apparently he is no longer making with the ϋber-skanky and is in fact pining hopelessly for the blond guy with the funny hair.

And all my plotting has left me with a vague idea and nothing else but a few blades of grass stuck to my skin. If the punching bag idea didn't work, not much else to do but find something else to do. I could call Xigbar, but the memory of Luxord's lips on mine is enough to make me scratch that idea.

It occurs to me, the last guy I fooled around with, that wasn't Roxas, was none other than Zeke. Weird.  
Mostly, I think I'm just pissed that Roxas' whole "training" thing was just a load of bullshit.

* * *

**Fiction (Dreams in Digital)-Orgy  
**  
It was pretty easy to fall asleep out in the grass, basking in the warm sun, even with blades of grass poking and stabbing at me. Waking up was pretty easy, too, mostly since it was Roxas doing the waking, because really, Roxas makes everything better.

"Hey," he says, squinting down at me through the bright sunshine.

"Hey," I return cautiously.

"Your mom let me in, do you mind?"

"No, why would I?"

"Listen, about earlier," he drops to his knees in the grass beside and combs his fingers through the blades,

"Would you forgive me if I asked to take it back?"

I don't want to. I _want_ to make him suffer. "Probably." But I would anyway.

"And if I said that you were-slash-are more than a fuck-buddy to me?"

"I'd ask who put something in your drink."

He laughs lightly, "Yeah. I kind of expected that." One corner of his mouth tugs up wistfully. He leans over and brushes his lips across mine, as light and ticklish as the grass against my neck.

Automatically, a hand reaches up to pull him down, it stops halfway; I look at him in the sunlight, the epitome of perfection for nubile blond boys with big blue eyes. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

He shrugs sadly, "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

His mouth turns downward, "I was afraid you'd say that."

I wake up sprawled face-down in the grass. It takes me a moment to collect myself; sit up, pull my legs and arms in to stand. Then reality hits me and I do almost want to curl up with a plushie and mourn. Almost.  
It's not that Roxas is gone; it's that he didn't _care_.

* * *

_"__I want to wake up naked next to you, kissing the curve in your clavicle."_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: 19 Sai-Suga Shikao**

"I KISSED A GIRL AND I LIKED IT!"**  
**

Guh. I sit up and rub at my bleary head and wonder why the loud noise and singing is attacking me.

"THE TASTE OF HER CHERRY CHAPSTICK-"

Oh, right, cell phone. I lean over the edge of the bed and swipe at my skirt from yesterday. Unfortunately,another round of vibro-singing whisks it out of my reach. **(1)**

"-I KISSED A GIRL JUST TO TRY IT."

One might wonder why the fuck Marluxia is calling in the first place. No matter, I lunge further off the bed and snag my skirt before it can skitter away. Finding the correct pocket, there are only two, is sadly much more challenging.

"I HOPE MY BOYFRIEND DON'T MIND IT!"

"Oh, _shut up_," I hiss as I open my damned phone and hit the green button. "Marluxia, what the heck?"

"Hiya, Nam!"

Well, someone's had their triple-shot espresso this morning.

An arm wraps around my waist and tugs me closer to the body it belongs to, "Nam, make the noise go away."

"It'll take a sec, Marluxia called."

"Oh. In that case-" Larxene sits up and grabs the phone from my hand and shuts it in one smooth gesture,

"Fucker." She flops back onto the sheets and wriggles to get comfortable, "Go back to sleep, love."

I shrug, "Alright."

"I KISSED A GIRL AND I LIKED IT!"

"Damn it," I make a grab for the phone but she snatches it away again. I lean over and look her in the eye,

"It's me, or Katy Perry, pick you poison."

"THE TASTE OF HER CHERRY CHAPSTICK!"

Lark sighs resentfully and puts the phone in the palm of my hand.

"Good girl," I reward her with a kiss on the head and then I slide out of bed to figure out what's up with Mar.

"I KISSED A-"

"Mar?" I really need to change that damn ring tone.

"Heeeeeey."

"Ask him why the fuck he's calling so early," Lark suggests helpfully as she rolls over and pulls the blankets up to her chin.

"You may tell your angelic girlfriend I'm calling because I'm at the airport."

"Ahh." Oh yeah, it's all coming together now.

"Yeah, I should see you tonight."

"_D'accord_. See you then."

"Yup, ciao."

I shut my phone and slide out of bed and dress quickly, pulling on yesterday's clothes, all the while thinking how very _Marluxia_ it is to say goodbye by saying '_ciao,_' all we need is beret and goatee and he's Mr. Pretention. "Marluxia says he's-"

"At the airport, yeah, I know. It's the beauty of cell phones."

"Well, then. I'm going to go tell Dem and Zex."

"'Kay, you coming back?"

"Yeah, think I'm up for the day though."

"'Kay." She shuts her eyes and rolls over.

In the hallway, I tap on Zexion's door as I open it, he's probably asleep anyway.

Z'oh my god.

He's asleep alright. With Demyx. Naked.

As I see it, I have two options. I can either shut the door quietly behind me and pretend I didn't see anything, or, I can dash back to my room, grab my phone, my _camera_ phone, and take a couple pictures before they wake up.

The click is wholly satisfying. The flash rouses Zexion. His stirring rouses Demyx. Ah, _fuck_.

I put my phone into my pocket before they get their eyes properly open. "Well, it's about damn time," I announce cheerily as I try not to vibrate with nervousness at the thought of what Zexion'll do to me when he finds about those pictures. All I have to do is live long enough to send one to Marluxia. But first I must torment them, because _that_ is what friends are for.

* * *

_"__I want to wake up naked next to you, kissing the curve in your clavicle."_

* * *

**(1)** I tested this out and it didn't work, but, luckily for me, this is a land of fiction. So I'm saying it did. It's entirely possible that I had I used a light-weight skirt instead of pants it would have worked better. Whatever.

* * *

**Divider** is **Clavicle **by **Alkaline Trio, I don't recommend it.**

**A/N:** **Next chapter** features **Sora** and **Crack**. Also, Demyx used to have talking fingers, then he lost them in the war. And yes, the Axel-angst really should be over, at least I certainly hope so. Did you know this thing limits the number of exclamation points you can use in a row? Weird.  
Sorry this is so short, next chapter should be better and longer.

You should **review** because it's almost my **birthday**, **whee!**


	21. Press Three

I've decided quick and short is the way to go. W00t?

**Unbeta'd**, it's a surprise. WHEE, SURPRISE SEX!!

* * *

_"To make a reservation at the end of our drowning pool, please press three."_

* * *

**Naminé BGM: The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny-Lemon Demon**

"Bwuh?"

"_Bwuh_ indeed! I-"

"Naminé, what the fuck?"

That, surprisingly, came from Demyx, who is usually not a one for the swearing. (The 'bwuh' was Zexion.)

"All I'm saying is I'm happy for you two. You _finally_ did it, I've been waiting forever."

"Oh, we're so sorry to keep you waiting," Demyx snaps, I'd forgotten what a bitch he can be in the morning. "Wait, did _what_?"

"Yeah, what the fuck are you talking about?" Zexion must've felt left out.

Geez, are these two slow or what? "Had sex. Duh."

"We didn't-"

"Oh, for the love of-I'M NOT GAY!"

"You're not?" Zexion and I blink at each other, speaking in unison not being something we're accustomed to. Demyx glares at me and shoves Zexion off the bed. Zexion's wearing his underwear. Oh... Whoops.

"What's with the yell-Oh my fucking god, Zexion Karenin, I will _kill_ you!" Yay, Lark's here!

"That was very uncalled for," Zexion, standing, reprimands the blond still in the bed who is also, I now notice, wearing underwear.

"Blow me." He does a pretty fair job of imitating Zexion's usual tone and inflection.

"Zexion! Pay attention as I kill you!"

"What are you on abou-Ow! That _hurt_, you_ punched_ me."

"Yeah, yeah I did. Whatcha gonna do about it?" Larxene taunts, really not the greatest of ideas.

"This!" And then Zexion pulled his arm back and probably would have punched her had Demyx not intervened by tackling Zexion to the floor while yelling, "Dude! She's a _girl_!"

"Yeah, a girl who hit me," Zexion argues as he shoves Demyx off of him.

"You pervy son of a whore! Stand back up so I can hit you again!"

"Sure, 'cause that's a _great_ incentive. Not," Zexion mutters bitterly as he rubs at the back of his head, probably hurt by the tackle to the floor.

He stands up anyway though, and Lark, true to her word, gets ready to punch him again.

"Lark, stop it! He didn't touch him!"

Lark doesn't stop, but Zexion doesn't stand there waiting to get hit so it works out in the end.

"Um, guys, what the hell is going on?" snaps a voice behind me. As one, we all turn to stare at Sora, who, accompanied by Riku, stands in the doorway. It's quiet, too quiet.

Well, if no one else is going to do it, "Well you see, Demyx and Zexion _didn't_ have sex, but-"

"Yes! Yes, we didn't have sex! And you know what?" Demyx is practically frothing at the mouth. "_We're not going to!_ Because I'm not gay and I'm gonna start punching people who say so, okay?" Demyx had been sitting quietly on the floor where he was after Zexion shoved him off, but now he's standing and frothing and dragging on a pair of pants, that look awfully like Zexion's, while he yells at us.

It goes quiet again and we all stand with considering looks on our faces, like, 'Should he be in a straitjacket?'

"Says the guy who wakes me up with his tongue in my mouth," Zexion quips with more than a hint of irritation.

Demyx's mouth works silently for several moments while we stare at him, waiting for an explanation as to his contradictory behavior. He flushes an ugly shade of burgundy, "I-It was early in the morning, okay? Can't be held responsible." He crosses his arms over his chest as if his usual morning-stupid should free him of all blame, but if that were true Lark wouldn't have any blackmail on me, now would she?

"Yu-huh, right, sure, whatever you say." Zexion is pissed.

"Hey, Zex, do you remember implying I wasn't good enough for Naminé?"

Come again?

"Yeah, what of it?"

Seriously, the fuck did she just say?

"Well, how are you any better for Demyx when _you're _the camp tramp?"

"Camp slut," I correct automatically in my confusion-based daze.

Zexion looks thoughtful, "That's actually a very good question, give me a sec here."

"Did you guys all go _mad_ when I was gone? Since when is Lark not good enough for me? Since when _does it matter_? And you!" My accusatory finger points at Zexion, "Since when are you screwing Marluxia when everyone knows you're for Demyx?" And speaking of Demyx, who's standing there looking stupid in Zexion's clothing, "Would you get out of the damn closet already?!"

"I'M NOT GAY!"

"I'm screwing Marluxia? What the hell? Why did I not know this?"

"Zexion brought it up, not me!"

I filter through their varying responses and come to one solid conclusion, "Zexion, I blame you for this entirely."

He looks startled, and I suppose I can't blame him, much.

"Ooh, I know!" Sora exclaims suddenly with hand-clapping, "We can have a trial, like the case of The House v. Zexion!"

A quick round conferring via glance than we, the islanders, shrug as one.

But then Zexion had to ruin the cool synchrony by asking to put on pants first.

* * *

_"To make a reservation at the end of our drowning pool, please press three."_

* * *

**Sora BGM: What the Fuck is Wrong You People?-Combichrist (1)**

It was decided that as the impartial third parties, Riku and I would both act as prosecutor and defense attorney. The four from the islands settle on the L-shaped living room couch and we swear them in all at once using a copy of Fable II.

"So, Zexion... Karenin, is it? Do you deny implying that Larxene... Sadi is not good enough for one Naminé Fell?"

"No."

"And what was the basis of this accusation?"

"That I had never taken her out on a "real date.""

"Thank you, Miss Sadi, but the question was directed to Mr. Karenin, not you. Mr. Karenin?"

"That she'd never taken her out on real date."

"I see, and-"

"Do you happen to remember your _exact_ phrasing?" Riku cuts in.

Zexion, what a funny name, shakes his head, "No, I do not."

"He said, "My _point_ is that maybe Demyx isn't the only one who deserves better.""

"Thank you, Mr. Aquroya."

"Miss Sadi, do you recollect ever implying or stating to Zexion that he was not good enough for your fake-cousin?"

"No."

"That was told to me by Marluxia."

"Marluxia..." I flip through the very hastily made dossiers and affidavits, "Marluxia... the pink-haired bastard," flip, "ϋber-man-whore," flip, "shameless tease," flip, "that you engage in sexual intercourse with?"

Zexi-Mr. Karenin frowns, "Except for the last one, yes."

"So, you deny that-"

"This is pointless! What we're trying to prove is totally moot."

Riku and I turn to stare at the blond upstart. "Really, Mr. Aquroya? And what exactly are we trying to prove?"

"Whether or not Zexy's worthy of me, but that's stupid because he doesn't want me!"

"Then what the-"

"OBJECTION!**(2)** Zexion does _so _want Demyx!"

"Ms. Fell, do you have any proof to support this statement?"

"Well, I, er, c'mon, Zexion, tell them!" She nudges the boy next to her with her elbow.

Zexion shrugs nonchalantly and says, "If I wanted Demyx, why would I be fucking Marluxia? Or perhaps more importantly, if I was fucking Marluxia, why would I want Demyx?"

"Very well. For contempt of court, I fine one Demyx Aquroya twenty pushups and an embarrassing dance routine here and now, as soon as we get cameras. Zexion Karenin, for being a two-timing slut, must not touch anyone, with the notable exception of his _beloved_ Marluxia, or he'll have to sing the Barbie Girl song. And for yelling 'objection' when she is not a lawyer or character from a popular video game series, I fine Naminé Fell a two-minute interpretive dance on the subject of chili peppers, not the band. Case closed."

Riku Angsty-Pants is my hero. **(3)**

* * *

_"To make a reservation at the end of our drowning pool, please press three."_

* * *

**Cloud BGM: Pet-A Perfect Circle**

"I saw Leon today," Aerith remarks in what I know is supposed to be a casual tone.

"Did you?" I've almost finished this level, just one more boss.

"Yeah, he looked pretty out of it."

"Nn."

"Cloud, could you please just talk to him."

"Nope."

"I really think you should."

"That's nice." A-X, A-X, _fuck_, Y! YYY!

"Do you want to hear something guaranteed to make you smile?" I spare a second to glance at her, she's lying on her stomach on her pink duvet with a magazine spread before her. Currently though, she's looking at me.

"Sure." A-X, yes! Vaulting successful.

"His face looks even worse than yours."

Aerith miscalculated though, the news that my face isn't the only bruised one doesn't make me smile at all.

"Oh, Cloud, for the love of Bahamut, cheer up!" A fluffy pillow collides with the side of my face, making me screw the timing on the vault, pixel-me lies prone on the ground as I mash A in an attempt to get him up and off the ground.

"Kinda hard to be cheerful when you're dead," I mutter bitterly to the controller as I hit A to keep playing.

"My parents talked to me today," she says out of the blue.

"Really? That's nice. I haven't talked to mine in a month.

"While they like you fine, they kinda... want you out. No offense meant of course."

_Leon wouldn't kick me out_, I refuse to say it. Partially because it's cruel and partially because her retort, in my mind, is an easy, _And I would never hit you_. Not much I can say to that.

"I think he misses you."

I fumble the timing on the combo.

"You should talk to him."

I sigh and chuck the controller away, immature, I know, "Mind your own damn business, Aerith. I'll be going now." I shut down the 360, after pulling the controller back over to me, and leave before she can get a word in edgewise.

* * *

_"To make a reservation at the end of our drowning pool, please press three."_

* * *

**Zexion BGM: Poison-Groove Coverage**

It would seem that we need the help of the elusive Leon in order to get to the airport; mostly because Sora and Riku, the only other ones in possession of a ride, are out, on a date or something.

And Leon is... well, where to start?

Gorgeous for one, though he'd be a lot prettier without the black eye. It must've happened a few days ago though because he says he can see out of it just fine, it just _looks_ like shit. Other than that though, pretty as a Greek statue. No lies.

I still like Demyx better though.

Demyx, sadly, is none too happy with me at the moment. It _might _have something to do with that thing where I made it sound like Marluxia and I were screwing, which seemed like an absolutely fabulous idea at the time. The silent treatment I've been getting from Demyx, makes it so not worth it, a little late though. The laughing stares from Larxene are... hilarious and infuriating. It's the holier-than-thou attitude behind them that makes the latter so apt a description.

It's not like I actually admitted to sleeping with him, I was just questioning the logic between their two contradictory beliefs.

So between the pissing-off and the depressing it's no wonder I didn't mind being nominated to be the other half of the "Fetch Marluxia" Delegation. Nam had to go because she's Cloud's cousin and it's all her fault we're here. Or that's what Leon said anyway, and it seemed to make sense when he said it, but that might just be 'cause I was staring at his mouth the entire time he was talking. Whatever.

I spend most of the obnoxiously long ride over listening to whatever over my headphones while Naminé and Leon make awkward small talk in the front seat. Which would be surprising, given Leon's aura of "I do not speak... everyone will die... winter is coming!" had I not known of Naminé's randomly occurring Could Converse with a Rock ability. It's quite a feat.

We wait around at the airport for a bit, each of us doing our own things. I keep on zoning out to "mah tunes" whilst Leon reads and Nam stares off dreamily into the distance.

Marluxia's flight was delayed due to weather, but not by much, luckily, my batteries are dying. And, in an odd way, I'm sort of happy to see him. That probably has something to do with the fact that he and I are the last surviving sane people.

I wait to greet him until after Naminé's Hug and Spin and Leon's Manly Nod. I surprise him with a willing hug. Most times, people have to chase me around the living room, or wherever, until I'm too tired to run away; which, admittedly, doesn't take too long, me not being much of an athlete and all. I guess he tried to copy my with the surprise thing, but him kissing me isn't nearly so big of a shocker. And this, kiddies, is what comes from jumping on the bandwagon, surprises that don't surprise anyone.

I tuck my arm around his waist as we follow Nam and Leon, the action throws him off guard, "Come along, _Beloved_."

"Beloved? Can't say anyone's ever called me that before."

"That's what the judge called you, my _beloved _Marluxia." I let out a refined and gentlemanly snort, 'cause yeah, I got a kick out of that.

"Judge?"

"Mm-hmm, we had a trial about whether or not I was worthy of Demyx." It's comfortable, walking by his side, I used to being the Tall Guy, but Short Guy isn't too bad, his arm fits nicely around my shoulders.

"And the findings?"

"There were none. Demyx interrupted. He did that a lot today."

A non-committal grunt, I'm losing his interest.

"Mostly to say he wasn't gay, usually when that was not the topic," I smirk.

He fluffs his hair, "Youthinks the lady doth protest too much?"

"Precisely. Oh Marly-mar, I have missed you."

* * *

_"To make a reservation at the end of our drowning pool, please press three."_

* * *

**(1)** Yes, I typed that correctly. There is no 'with.'

**(2)** Sorry, _someone_'s been playing Phoenix Wright. Sadly, it isn't me.

**(3)** So I was thinking up last names and running out of ideas and well... I just don't like Riku. Hence, his last name really is Angsty-Pants. Everyone else's last names are references, with the exception of Leon, Cloud, Sora, and Marluxia. Go, catch them all! Pokemon! Bottleneck!!

* * *

**Divider** is from **Dr. Online** by **Zeromancer** and yes, I am a little **addicted**, there has been fanart... anyway, moving right along!

I feel suspiciously like I wrote this** quickly** (strokes chin), it's an odd feeling. Not much to say this time around.

**If you get the "bottleneck" comment** and AREN'T Blondevil, you will get a **cookie**. Same if you can get all the **references**, or any of them for that matter, except for Karenin, that's easy.

I **hope you all enjoyed** it. Please be so kind as to **review**.


	22. About Damn Time

"_Love me tonight and let the devil take tomorrow."

* * *

_**Zexion BGM: Show Me Love-Tatu**

The sound of strumming hits me as I brush my teeth. I tap on the door connecting the bathroom to Demyx's bedroom and open it when there isn't an answer.

Demyx sits cross legged on his bed strumming at his acoustic guitar. The sound takes me back to the all the times when he'd play when we were traveling the world in Shiva, a refreshing break from radio ennui.

I crawl onto the bed behind him. My knees on either side of his hips, my arms around his neck, I kneel behind him. He doesn't even stop playing.

I wait for him to finish the song before I speak, "What will it take for you to believe I never slept with Marluxia?"

"Video evidence of you sleeping alone for the past year."

"I never said I was sleeping _alone_," I tease gently.

He stiffens in my arms and probably blushes, "Whatever."

"I was, though," I murmur into the crook of his neck.

"Let me go, Zex, I'm sick of your games. They're no fun and you cheat," he says, but he relaxes against me anyway.

"Dealer makes the rules, love. Come back to bed."

"What?" He twists to look at me.

"I want you to come back to our bed. There's some old horror movie on and I want to curl up under the covers and watch it with you."

It takes him several long moments to answer, "Do you realize you said _our_ bed?"

I hadn't, I guess it slipped. "It could be."

"All I have to do is sleep with you?"

"Well, yes."

He inhales to begin an angry retort, but I cut him off first, "In the literal sense, Dem. This isn't me making a... a booty call. I just want you." Shit, that sounds awful. "I just want you in my bed." And that sounds worse, I'm no good at this sincerity thing. "I just want to-"

He laughs coldly, "It's cool, I get it. Not a sex thing."

He sounds pissed. "Did you _want _it to be a sex thing?"

"What?! No!"

I shrug and pull him closer, his warmth is comforting. "You sounded unhappy with the notion that it wasn't."

He's silent for several long minutes. "You were lying when you said you thought I was unattractive, weren't you?

I shrug yet again, "Maybe."

"Zexion."

"Listen, Dem, I'm just a little sad it took you this long, it was _terrible_ lie."

"Well, you always do know how to boost a fellow's self-esteem. I hate to sound trite, or worse, like you, but really, Zexion, bite me."

I take the skin connecting his shoulder to neck between my teeth and gradually apply pressure until he jolts and squirms, "You and your taking everything literally," he mutters. Demyx wriggles some more and whacks lightly against my arms, "Let me up, damn you."

"Is that a yes?"

"No."

"Is it a no?"

"Yes."

I shrug, "Alright, but you should know, I'm not gonna let you go until you agree to come back with me."

"Great, it's cuddle-rape," he mutters.

I tighten my grip, "Damn straight."

He sighs, "What kind of horror movie?"

"Swamp monster."

"Tentacles?"

"Quite possibly."

"Okay then, will you let me go now?"

"You promise?"

He holds up one hand, all the fingers folded down but for the pinky, "Pinky swear."

We lock pinkies then tug free, the agreement settled. I half-expected him to make a break for it when I lifted my arm, but he didn't.

So we go back to m-our room and curl together on top of the covers and Demyx gets his tentacles.

* * *

_"Love me tonight and let the devil take tomorrow."

* * *

_**Cloud BGM: I Think I'm Paranoid-Garbage**

I consider my options as I sit astride Fenrir in the driveway.

I could go home.

I'd rather rip my own nails out and then eat them, but it is an option.

I could find a shitty motel that won't care that I'm too young to legally check myself in. But considering the quality of that kind of hotel, I'd rather go home.

Which does explain why I'm here, of all places. No, I'm not home, you freaks.

I pull out my cell and punch in the number I was really hoping to not have to dial.

"Cloudo?"

"Hey, Sora." I say resignedly. "So guess what?"

"Ooh! You got a dog!"

"What? No!"

"Oh, you could use a dog, man, they're great."

"Sora."

"Yeah?"

"I'm in your driveway."

"... oh." I hear his teeth click as he bites the word off. "What'cha doin' there?"

"Sitting on my bike mostly. Listen, I was wondering if I could, uh-"

"Move back in?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Sure, of course. I was just telling Riku about how we'd have to show up at your door with brownies and easily breakable promises regarding the Lord Douchebag."

"Erm, right. Do you think I could do that, move back in, while avoiding Leon? Don't really wanna talk to him just yet."

"Sure, probably. Lord Douchebag has been playing Least in Sight lately, no idea where he's been hiding, the house isn't _that_ big."

"'Kay, thanks."

"No prob. The front door should be unlocked, but you knew that, we never lock it. Oh, quick warning, some friends of Naminé are visiting."

"Righto, thank you, seriously, I owe you."

Sora laughs, "No big deal, Cloudo, this just saves me the trouble of begging."

"Right, see you." I click the phone off and head up the front walk.

I think I'll stay in the basement, should be easy to avoid everyone, mostly Leon, whilst I'm down there. For reasons that should be obvious I really don't want to see or talk to him, at least until I no longer want to punch him... again.

So you can understand my displeasure when the first thing I see upon arriving in the basement is none other than Leon.

"Oh, fuck."

He stares at me. I stare at him.

"Well, hey," he says finally, like a stupid little 'hey' is gonna make me not mad at him. Right.

"Hey, Sora said me staying here wouldn't be a problem. That might just be because I promised him waffles."

Leon thinks this over for a minute, then says, "That's understandable I suppose. You do make good waffles.

"I make good everything."

He nods, "I liked that cake you made for my birthday last year."

"But what do I get for it, a punch in the face? Nice payment system."

"We both know that I didn't punch you over cake."

"Then what did you punch me over?"

He shrugs and studies the ugly green carpeting. "You can hit me now if you want.

I hadn't thought of it, much, but now that he mentions it...

I throw a punch at his face. He takes it calmly, doesn't try to block or anything. He does punch me back, "Never said I wouldn't hit back though."

"Bastard." We're fighting again and bahamut but it feels like heaven. It's not long before we're a tangled pile of writhing limbs on the rolling about on the floor. And then a second's hesitation gives him the advantage and I find myself pinned beneath him, which I don't really mind at all. Nor do I mind when he presses his lips urgently to mine, but then being on bottom feels like a bad thing, so I flip us over, knocking over a lamp in the process. I am delighted to find his fingers sliding easily under my shirt as I claw at his belt.

I then realize that the fighting wasn't heaven, this is heaven. He snarls angrily and shoves me onto my back. I allow it for a minute or two, before shoving him up against the back of the couch and pinning his hands above his head. I get a hold on his throat with my teeth and wait for him to admit defeat. He struggles for a second before going still with a slightly petulant growl.

His breathing is hot and heavy in my ear and I growl a gruff agreement to the single word he snarls, "Lover."

As to what happened after that, I'll leave it to your imaginations.

* * *

_"Love me tonight and let the devil take tomorrow."

* * *

_**BGM: Dhoom Dhoom-Tata Young**

I wake up naked underneath a scratchy old blanket with a naked Leon on top of me. All in all, not a bad way to wake up. We're lying on the back of the couch that I vaguely remember tipping over last night. Looking around I see that most of the basement is in a similar condition. I guess we got a little carried away last night.

My sitting up disturbs Leon, who sits up with a groan and rub to his head. He blinks at me then looks around the basement for a minute, "Huh."

"Yeah."

"So... now what?"

Now what what? What is he talking about? Are we acknowledging the fact that we totally had sex last night or not? My eye falls on the TV and game consoles beneath it, "I dunno. You wanna play video games?"

He shrugs, "Sure." He sits up slowly and, keeping the blanket at waist level, grabs hold of his pants and tugs them on underneath the blanket, which is a rather ugly shade of green.

I think he's in denial, I'd be mad, but I'm too giddy to process this at the moment.

We've been playing some generic "shoot the zombies" game for about ten minutes when Riku appears from the stairs, "Hey, Leon!'

"Unh." Headshot, nice.

"Rinoa called."

"... unh?"

"She wants you to call her back." Riku stands awkwardly fidgeting, waiting for Leon to say something, which he doesn't. Riku looks around his gaze lingering on the knocked over furniture and the two of us playing video games half-dressed on the righted couch. I really don't want to know what he's thinking. "Right then, later." He disappears up the stairs.

"Soo...," I trail off, not sure of what to say because I don't think I want to know the answer to my question, _Are you going to call her?_

"Maybe."

"Oh." Well... _fuck! Bahamut damn her evil soul to hell, I can't believe-_

"Sorta my fault we broke up, you know?"

"Not really," I snap.

"We'd had a few drinks this one time and-"

Why is he telling me this? Why should I care? I don't care. Damn him. Damn them both.

"-I sorta said a few things I really shouldn't have in retrospect."

"Fascinating."

"A lot of stupid stuff, about my father, and some other stuff," he continues like I said nothing. "Stuff about you, us." Oh great, he talks about me to the evil slutface, that just makes everything _so_ much better. Not. "Like how the only kiss I really, honestly enjoyed was with you in a drunken game of Truth or Dare. You know, little stuff like that."

That's just great for you, still not carin-wait... did he just... fuck?

"The games a lot easier when you shoot things, too, you know."

I absently hit the Start button to pause it so I can continue to stare blankly in front of me with my mouth slightly open, okay, more than slightly. "You remember that?" I gasped finally, remembering his plea of amnesia.

"Yeah," he admits with a guilty-looking head scratch, "I was sort of curious as to what you would say if I asked you if anything interesting happened."

"Oh."

"If this is the part where you freak out and runaway I'd appreciate it if you did it soon so I can get started nursing my injured pride."

I shake my head, "This isn't that part." I continue staring blankly forward, trying to figure out when exactly I switched dimensions.

"Then... which part is it?"

I take a deep breath, slowly, "I'm not sure yet, it might be the part where I punch you for not doing something a little sooner."

He chews this over, "Fair enough I s'pose. But you know if you punch me, I'll punch you back."

"Considering where that wound up last night, I'm not having much of a problem with it."

"I dunno, not sure if the basement can stand more of last night, like half the furniture is broken."

"The basement is going to have to deal," I say seriously as I lean forward to kiss him, because not doing so was bothering me. And that being able to do that is a shiny new thing that feels amazing. There's a slight thunk as he throws his controller to the floor and a squeak of the couch when he pushes me back into the cushions and climbs on top.

* * *

_"Love me tonight and let the devil take tomorrow."

* * *

_

Well, there's the Cloud/Leon we've all been waiting for. W00t.

Divider is from Kiss of Fire.

Please review.


	23. Look At You

Am I **godlike** or what? Don't even ask how I wrote this so quickly. I'm really liking this quick and short thing.

**Unedited**. It really is a surprise and I apologize for any heinous error on my part.

* * *

_"You love the way I look at you, while taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through."_

* * *

**THIRD PERSON**

As has been previously pointed out by Zexion, Marluxia's "great" ideas have a tendency to suck. See for reference: that whole road trip business. Sadly, they all have to yet to learn from past bad experiences and continue to go along with all his stupid little schemes.

Or so Zexion theorized in order to justify to himself why precisely they ended up at a karaoke club the second night he was there. As bad plans go, that one pretty much won the "Oh Dear God Why" award to Zexion's mind. To simplify, karaoke clubs, and Hannah Montana, are the spawn of the devil. This is a real and true fact, Czernobog strike him if he lies, and so on.

And yet, there they were.

It was Zexion, Demyx, Marluxia (also known as The Embodiment of All That Is Evil and Wrong, again, to Zexion's mind), Naminé, Lark, Roxas and, at Naminé's urging, Axel.

Naminé was sort of totally trying to play matchmaker, and it was not working in the least. They'd done nothing but ignore each other or glare.

And on a really creepy note, Demyx and Roxas were bonding. Or at least everyone else _thought _it was bonding. It involved a lot of throwing really filthy looks at Zexion and Axel, who were perfectly innocent, well, not in the least, but who's counting?

Abruptly, Marluxia stood, clapped Zexion on the shoulder, and approached the stage. This caused those from the Islands to wince lightly, as Marluxia was not known for his singing ability. Nonetheless, he approached the stage with alacrity and, after a quick conversation with the organizer woman, hopped on.

"This one's for Zexion," he said into the microphone as the music started playing.

Zexion twitched.

Marluxia actually looked a bit nervous. He was biting his lip and his left leg was twitching to the beat in an attempt to loosen up. Singing was really not his forte.

"It seems so obvious, there's something up with us. I swear I feel it from across the roo~oom."

The group at the table relaxed slightly, Marluxia actually sounded... good. "So can I ask you this? Not to be forward, _miss_, but I think I'll kill myself if I never kno~o~ow-"

Zexion frowned, this song was sorta familiar, Marluxia had burned him a CD once and... oh no, something bad was coming, if only he could remember _what_...

"What do I have to do to get inside of you?"

As one, everyone at the table who had just taken a drink spat it out and choked. They weren't alone in this, about half the club was doing the same.

"To get inside of you? 'Cause I love the way you move, when I'm inside of you, when I'm inside of you~u~u!"

Zexion, to his great shame, let out an inaudible whimper at the look Demyx tossed his way. Between that and the brilliant blush he was sporting he was really quite ready for the ground to swallow him up. He was going to _kill_ Marluxia. Sure, he'd said it before, see for reference: that whole road trip business, but this time he really, _really_ meant it.

He just had to remember how to breathe first.

"Just ask and I will do, anything you want me to. There is no limit to how far I will g-"

The rest of the song was lost on Zexion, who had folded his arms on the table, avoiding the spit-sprays, and had buried his head in his crossed arms, making strange noises.

"Is he laughing or crying?" asked Axel, poking the shaking Zexion in the shoulder.

"I dunno, do you think we should get some help?"

"The only help he needs is a therapist." That snappy comment was from Demyx who was feeling betrayed and therefore angry; very, very angry.

"Little harsh, Dem," Naminé chided.

The blond male shrugged, "Whatever."

Eventually the song ended and Marluxia stepped of the stage out of the lights to a surprising amount of applause.

At that sound, Zexion pulled it together. He didn't want the pink-haired bastard to see the effect his song choice had had. He really had to kill him... that, or one-up him. Oh yes, that was a brilliant plan.

Zexion slid out of the booth and headed to the ground floor using the opposite stairs from the ones Marluxia was currently using. After quickly bribing the people in front of him in the line he made it onto the stage and adjusted the mic with a demure smile, "This one's for Marluxia." He then cleared his throat and waited.

"You gonna do something? You gotta do it full on, hardcore. Like _this_."

The group shared a collective look-around, no one seemed to recognize the song. This was because this particular song was one Zexion would generally denying knowing, for reasons about to become very apparent. Zexion swallowed and took a deep breath, he was about to kiss his dignity away. "Demyx please forgive me for this.

"Wanna get you home, wanna make ya moan. Wanna get you in my pleasure dome. Wanna make it hot, get your pistol cocked, gonna get ya if your ready or not."

Luckily, this time, no one had dared to touch their drinks. The group because they were appropriately afraid of whatever Zexion's song choice was, and the rest of the club because they had seen the dark-haired boy dash down the stairs and cut everyone in line in order to sing after the pink-haired boy, thereby leading most of them to the conclusion that this was Zexion and he was out for revenge.

"-pardon me but _please_, on your hands and knees!" And then there was the chorus. Zexion had to steel himself before hand. This was a direct challenge to Marluxia, and he had a fairly strong belief that whatever Marluxia's reaction would be, he wouldn't forget it for a long, long while.

"Let's hit it hard, now you're in charge. You wanna roll? Then take control. Get up on the floor, unh! Show me what it's for, unh! Wanna score, por favor, c'mon rock it hardcore!"

Marluxia, who had been watching with a mix of incredulity and admiration, snapped. And in snapping, started to plot.

The crowd was actually kind of enjoying itself. Zexion, as stated by a somewhat exaggerated testimony of Demyx's, was quite a good singer. Moreover, he was a good performer. Marluxia had been too focused on not sucking to do an appealing to the crown. Zexion on the other hand had gotten the audience to sing along with him on the second chorus.

Marluxia jumped out of his seat and fought his way down the stairs and through the crowd as Zexion finished telling everyone that some people were of the opinion that he was conduit. Because no one, no one, challenged Marluxia Fleur (born Liam Raux) and got away unscathed, even if the challenge was poorly disguised as an innocent round of karaoke.

"I wanna feel your lust. I know I'm gonna bust."

Yes, by bahamut, Zexion would be feeling his lust, and he wasn't entirely sure what that second bit was about but he'd damn well do that too.

"Let's hit it hard."

Marluxia elbowed the organizer woman in the side and pushed past her, up the stairs. "Now you're in charge."

He was on the stage and Zexion was watching him with eyes that were wide with what just might have been fear. That didn't last long.

"You wanna roll?" he strutted up to Marluxia while the crowd cheered him on.

"Then take con-mmf."

The 'mmf' was the noise made when Marluxia grabbed the singer about the waist and kissed him heartily. Sure, he'd done it before, rather a lot actually, but it was the tried and true method of shutting Zexion up and that was an easy twenty-five percent of Marluxia's goal. The other seventy-five consisted of showing Zexion precisely who was in charge and pissing off Demyx. Because pissing off Demyx made Marluxia happy. And Marluxia was one hundred percent certain that an epic, bent-over, hollywood movie kiss with Zexion on a stage in front of tons of people would make Demyx livid, because as staking claims went, this was way beyond pissing on a tree or mailbox post. And Demyx would be furious, and jealous, and completely impotent to do anything about it. And that made Marluxia laugh, or it would have were his tongue not busy with better things.

When they straightened and pulled back for air Marluxia took the opportunity to whisper, "That hitting it hard enough?" into Zexion's ear, because he had to say _something_ and that was the only coherent thing coming from his lust and adrenaline fogged brain.

Zexion, still riding on the performance rush, threw back his head and cackled; and continued to do so even as Marluxia slung him over one shoulder and carried him up the stairs like a trophy.

At the table, and indeed, throughout most of the club, silence reigned. Naminé and Demyx were twitching and furious, for similar enough reasons, Axel and Larxene were surprised, and Roxas was apathetic and mildly pissed off. His irritation had nothing to do with what had just transgressed on the stage and everything to do with the way his skin itched every time he was near a certain redhead and how much he wished Naminé had mentioned that Axel was coming when she'd invited him.

Everyone else was just startled by the live-action BL they'd just witnessed.

"I thought you were joking," Naminé said quietly. "About Marluxia and Zexion, I thought you were joking," she repeated, "Everyone knows that Zexion's for Demyx, everyone knows that."

It was unclear to whom she was speaking.

"Yeah, well, it's pretty obvious he's not," Demyx snapped, "And I really wish you all would stop saying how much he loves me, or wants me or whatever. I think he's made it perfectly clear just what he wants."

Marluxia, and the now walking Zexion, arrived at the table.

"I'll get the next round of drinks," Demyx volunteered quickly.

"I'll come with," Marluxia said, surprising everyone, "some of us intend to drink something a little stronger than Mountain Dew."

Demyx kept walking, "Do as you like." Marluxia followed him down the stairs.

Which left Zexion standing awkwardly by his lonesome.

"Erm, hey," he tried to ignore how hot his face was. His greeting fell on deaf and angry ears, because Axel and Larxene had managed to fumble their way to the land of anger and Roxas was too mad at Axel and Naminé to give much of a damn about anything.

Down at the bar, Demyx was doing his level best to ignore Marluxia, who was at his most charismatic and scheming, as he leaned in close to the blond, mouth running all the while.

Demyx drummed his fingers on the table whilst waiting for the bartender to finishing mixing drinks for a group down the bar a ways.

And then Marluxia leaned in closer, way, way, way too close, and whispered something with a smirk into the blond's ear.

Demyx snapped.

He punched Marluxia in the face, hard. Hard enough to loosen some of Marluxia's teeth. Hard enough to knock him into the burly man behind him. Hard enough to command the single-minded attention of everyone in the bar.

"Shut up, just shut. Up," Demyx said with many a facial tic.

Zexion, watching, swore, "Shit!" He then took the stairs two at a time, not sure of whether he was going to check on Marluxia, restrain the blond or just get to Demyx's side, because if he could just get to Demyx's side, everything would be okay.

Except it wasn't, so said the pain in his jaw accompanied by the metallic taste of blood as he hit the ground beside Marluxia.

Demyx turned, very calmly, and walked away. Because if he didn't walk away he would pummel them both to a sticky red goo, and he didn't want to do that, not really.

"Demyx!" Zexion yelled, getting to his feet.

"Just let him go," snapped Marluxia, who was most certainly not laughing now.

"Fuck that," Zexion snapped, not even thinking about word choice as he slapped Marluxia's restraining hand off his arm and chased down the path Demyx had left in his wake. He was waylaid by the bouncers who were unhappy at being run into twice in one minute, and therefore decided to make the unlucky second runner's life hell briefly. Still, he got outside shortly after Demyx. He should still be in sight, he had to be, he had to.

Zexion sighed, picked a direction, and ran.

* * *

_"You love the way I look at you, while taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through."_

* * *

Yeah, I know **cliffhanger**, I'm **evil**. But I updated quickly so you all can't get _too_ angry.

**Songs** used in the **Karaoke Duel** are **Inside of You-Hoobastank** and **Hit It Hard-Peaches**, I cut out a lot of the lyrics of both. **Divider** is from **Points of Authority** by **Linkin Park**.

Also, WSNHY is officially over **two years old** and **one hundred thousand words**, by far the longest thing I've ever written.

Review?


	24. Idyllic

Wahey but I feel like the **updating god**! I'm **not**, but I **feel sorta like it**. So to all of you whom I told this would happening **next week**, **sorry, I lied**.

* * *

_"Someday I will show you a bright and ideal world."

* * *

_**Roxas BGM: Killing Fields-Funker Vogt**

It's too warm in the club, and Axel's proximity isn't doing me any good. I murmur that I need to get out in Naminé's ear and she obligingly slides out of the booth. I make my way out through the little-used back door and step out into the grimy alley behind the establishment.

Demyx's there. He's leaning back against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I pause, "Hey."

"Hey," he sounds like he's a million miles away.

"Too hot in there, you know?"

"Nn."

My mind flashes to Axel's face when he saw me tonight and I realize he knew I was coming as little as I knew he was. Unbidden, the image of his face when I said I wanted to break up springs to mind and I-

"You're mad at Blowjob Boy?"

He snorts, "No shit, Sherlock." Swearing doesn't become him.

"He didn't do anything terrible."

"Like Axel did?" he snaps.

"Who the fuck told you about that?" I snap back, furious.

Demyx rolls his eyes, the action suits him little better than swearing, "Like I need anyone to tell me what's obvious to anyone in a mile radius."

I roll my eyes right back at him, "And like I needed anyone to tell me that Zeke's crazy for you."

"Who?"

"Blowjob Boy, isn't his name Zeke?"

"Zexion, which is why he likes screwing Marluxia so much?"

"You can blame him for that?!"

"Sure, like you can blame Axel for having friends."

I choose to ignore that comment. "Imagine this. You're gay. You're in love with your best friend who, I'm guessing, likes to insist he's straight."

"What the-"

"Shut up. And then, you have this friend, who is a total hottie and probably an amazing kisser-slash-lay, who likes to hit on you a lot, physically. Meanwhile, you're a healthy eighteen-year-old who-"

"Nineteen."

"What?"

"He's nineteen."

"Whatever. You're nineteen and you're hormones are still be being adolescently retarded. What the fuck do you think you do?"

He stands frozen, his mouth hanging open. "I-"

"So of course, you probably hit on your "straight" friend a bit, you know, little jokes that could be taken either way. And maybe he responds, but in that same indefinite way, so you just keep trying to see if you can figure this damn kid out. This ringing any bells?"

"How do you- who-what? I'm straight, what am I supposed to do?!"

"Sure, you're straight, but I bet you still get all tingly or happy in your pants or whatever when teases or touches or whatever it is that he does.'

He flushes dully in the yellow light. "Well, how about you then?"

"What about me? Our situations are totally different."

"Yeah, but since we're playing Dear Abby. Let's talk about you and Axel. See how you like it."

"Let's not."

"So let me guess, you're mad at Axel because he can be super possessive and clingy. Maybe he gets jealous easily. And that's totally his fault except for the fact where you don't admit to actually _feeling _anything so he has no idea if you're just playing around whereas he's emotionally invested."

"He is not!"

"Sure he is, or else he wouldn't follow you around the room with puppy-dog eyes. And he gets jealous and you get pissed. And _then _you find out he's got an attractive friend he fooled around with a couple times and you get pissed 'cause you figure he's a hypocrite, when in reality, he hasn't seen that friend in _years _and has no lingering attraction for him, but you get pissed anyway."

I blink and swallow, that sounds... infuriatingly accurate. "So, what? We're both dumbasses then?"

He shrugs, "Guess so. Agree to never tell anyone this?"

"Bahamut, yes!"

We walk back into the club together. Marluxia shoots a glare at Demyx but other than that our arrival causes little stir.

We sit back in our seats and I consider saying something to Axel but he's further down the table and this is a more public venue than I'd like anyway.

"Erm, hey, where's Zexion?" Demyx wonders.

At Demyx's urging we leave the club and split up to form search teams. An hour of name shouting and we find nothing other than each other and the van the non-Naminé islanders got here in. Finally, someone, possibly Marluxia, gets the brilliant idea to try his cell.

Naminé does the calling as we figure she has the most chance of getting him to answer.

She returns shortly. "He ran into Leon and Cloud when they were getting ice cream and they took him home. He says he's reading."

And just like that I'm pissed we spent an hour running around Hollow Bastion in the dark and the bastard's sitting comfortably at home in Radiant Garden _reading_. I guess he's a bookworm, explains why he and Axel have so much to blab about.

Then it's time to split up to go home. Marluxia, Nam and Demyx take Shiva, which, I'm told, is the name of their van. Which leaves me and Axel standing there stupidly.

"C'mon," I say finally, after the others have left, "I'll give you a ride."

* * *

_"Someday I will show you a bright and ideal world."

* * *

_**Zexion BGM: Halleluja-Rammstein**

It takes me all of a minute to figure out I chose the wrong direction. Another minute or two to decide that pelting full-out down random streets I don't know in an unfamiliar city _in the dark_, really, not the greatest of ideas. I'm a genius, what can I say?

After that, I pick a direction that feels like it'll take me back to Leon-slash-Sora's and follow it.

Twenty minutes later and I'm still nowhere near anything familiar. Searching would probably be easier if my head weren't still full of Marluxia and how annoying he can be. He's clingy, and possessive and so... touchy-feely. And then it hits me. Demyx probably thinks about me the same way I think about Marluxia, well, probably without the urge to start humping his leg, metaphorically speaking.

Well, fuck, that makes a painful amount of sense.

There really isn't much of a nightlife down here. I see own person in all of my half-hour ramble. He's leaning on the back of the bench outside a still open ice cream parlor. I stop in my tracks and stare at him. He's blond, pretty, in a feminine way, funny hair, spiked.

I stop and stare at him. He stares right back. "I hate men," I confide by way of an icebreaker.

"Really?" he asks with a smile so huge I'm surprised it doesn't fall off, "I love them."

Well that was a bust. All well, gotta say _something_. "I'm happy for your happiness," I say with a stiff nod as I start walking again.

The door to the ice cream parlor opens with a jingle as I walk by, "Hey, er, Sexion, is it?" a familiar voice asks.

I turn; it's Leon, Sora's sexy older brother holding two ice cream cones. "Zexion," I correct automatically.

"Oh, you two know each other?" the blond asks.

Leon nods, "This is one of your cousin's friends, they came to visit."

My interest in the blond sharpens, "You're Nam's cousin?"

He nods, spikes bobbing.

"Oh."

"Weren't you guys karaoke-ing tonight?" Leon asks in an effort to keep the conversation going as he passes the second cone to Naminé's cousin.

"We did, they might still be."

"You left early?" the blond asks as Leon sits close, very close, to him on the back of the bench.

"Shit went down, I'm actually looking for someone."

"All alone, in the dark, in a city you don't know?"

"Pretty much."

"Have you tried calling him?" the blond-Cloud! That's his name!- asks.

I try it. "No answer."

* * *

**BGM: Change-Deftones**

Through the bathroom I hear the quiet sounds of Demyx returning and settling in. Knowing what has to come now, I shut my book with a quiet sigh and stand up. I tap quietly on his door as I open it.

He glances up sharply, "Oh, just you." He turns back to packing the clothes that had migrated to the floor during our brief stay.

"Listen, I just want to-to apologize."

"For what?" he asks with his back still turned. "You already apologized for the song, are you apologizing for what happened after?"

"No, I'm apologizing for everything. For-for the way I've been acting these past few weeks. I realized... I'm acting to you the way Marluxia acts to me, and I know that sucks, so I'm just here to say sorry for that."

Demyx sighs and I see his muscles clench under his T-shirt. It's silent for several long moments and I'm about to turn away and go back to ou-my room, unforgiven, when he speaks. "You're never going to tell me, are you?"

I freeze, "Tell you what?"

"Here, I'll help. I'm not gay, I don't find men attractive. I hate it when you kiss me because it makes me feel... itchy. But I know I love falling asleep next to you and waking up with you still there. And I also know that watching you kiss Marluxia tonight made me want to kill something. Now you tell me how I feel."

I could say I tell him what he wants to hear. I could tell him how much I love him, how I would do anything for him.

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath to tell him... nothing. I'm not what he wants and I'm certainly not what he needs. And everyone knows I'm nowhere near good enough for him. I turn around and reach for the door. The doorknob's touch is as cold as reality's kiss.

Screw noble intentions.

I cross back the length of the room and grab his face in my hands and kiss him desperately, I kiss him the same way Marluxia kisses me and I'm rewarded by the feel of him leaning heavily against me. I pull back when the need to inhale becomes too much. His eyes open slowly, "Didn't I just say I hated that?" he asks breathily.

"You said it made you ... itchy," I kiss his earlobe, "I bet I can help you scratch that," I nip at the cartilage.

He shivers briefly before murmuring, "That's a terrible pick-up line."

"I know," I say, "but it's a genuine offer nonetheless. Demyx, I love you."

He smiles softly at me, "I know, but thanks for saying it."

And then we're kissing again and I'm guiding him back toward the bed which he topples on to.

"Nng, not this bed!" he shoves me off and all but drags me over to our room where we happily continue on top of _our_ bed.

* * *

_"Someday I will show you a bright and ideal world."

* * *

_**Axel BGM: Untouched-The Veronicas**

I wake up this morning to Xigbar on the phone, yelling at me to come get groceries with him. Which is something he occasionally does, so I wasn't surprised by it, much. It's still a little weird to wake up to someone yelling "ZOMEFUHGUH**(1)** FOOD!" in your ear.

And for the record, most of Xigbar's "grocery shopping" consisted of me waiting around in his car while he haggles with his drug dealer, which is what usually happens so I _really_ wasn't surprised this time. And then we got pleasantly high on the way to the grocery store.

The point of all this is to say that I was out. Which is only important for the telling to explain where I was in order to come back to find Roxas sitting on my doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. Two actually, and chocolates, too, not in a heart-shaped box but I'll forgive him this once.

I stop in front of him as I hear Xigbar drive away. "Why are you here?" I ask, not being one to wade through the bullshit longer than necessary.

"To talk to you, and give you these," he proffered one of the bouquets.

I eye the bundle he's holding out, "Two dozen red roses?"

"Yup. I tried to write poetry but it didn't work out very well. Did you want iambic pentameter?"

"It-it's your choice." He-I don't believe it, he-he actually got me the stupid stuff I listed as a joke.

He shrugged, "I thought you might say that, still didn't get very far."

Swallowing is difficult, "Right."

He stands up certainly, I notice for the first time his car in the driveway.

"Who's the other bouquet for?" I finally ask, just to say something, gesturing at the second bouquet, sitting on the stoop behind him. Not roses like the ones he gave to me, but a wildflower combination.

"Your mother, as a hostess present."

An image of Roxas bowing whilst presenting the flowers to my flour-covered en-aproned mother springs to mind and I grin before I can stop it.

Slowly, he gets down on one knee, "Alex Targaryen, will you be my boyfriend?"

I try to bite back the grin but my face soon hurts from the effort. "Alright, will you be _my_ boyfriend?"

* * *

**(1)**Zomefuhguh is the way to pronounce ZOMFG! as if it were an actual word in the English language. Well, it's the way I pronounce it at least.

* * *

_"Someday I will show you a bright and ideal world."

* * *

_The **divider** is from the English translation of **The World** by **Nightmare**, also known as the first opening song for **Death Note**.

**AN**: Originally this was when Leon and Cloud got together because it was Cloud and Aerith Zexion ran into at the ice cream store. Cloud then gave him a ride home then was like, "Well, I need to get stuff." so he went in and ran into Leon and they were all like, "FIGHT THEN SEX!" but I kinda figured you guys would kill me if I wrote ANOTHER Cloud/Leon-less chapter.


	25. Special Dirty Things

_"If that turned around I'd grieve the special dirty things that we used to talk about, I mean that loving you is strange and adored by me throughout."

* * *

_**Marluxia BGM: The Moment of Conception-David Byrne**

"Nnh, Marluxia! Harder!"

I obey willingly as I thrust harder into the naked body beneath mine. His legs wrap tighter around my waist.

"Marluxia..." This time it's said like I'm sort of god. Which I am, a _sex_ god.

"Zexion," I moan against my will, the tempo increasing as we approach climax.

I awake to a pillow-muffled shout.

Glancing around, I take in the messed sheets and otherwise empty bed. The dream has stopped, so why not the moaning?

"Ahh, Zexion!"

...

There's a lot to be said for sound insulation. Someone should tell Leon about its wonders.

"Fuck," I sprawl back on the sheets.

One freezing shower later I'm milling about the house looking for some sort of escape. I wind up outside by the pool which glows a sedate chlorine green from the sensor-tripped lights.

I take out a cigarette and light up. I know it's bad for your health, or whatever, but that first drag does more to ease my frayed nerves than the cold shower did. I'm starting on the second cigarette when I hear soft footfalls behind me. I don't need the strong scent of shampoo and body wash to tell me it's Zexion. He sits beside me and rolls up his pant legs to dangle his feet in the water beside mine.

You might think it's awkward to face someone you just had a wet dream about, but lately I can't close my eyes without seeing Zexion spread out naked on my bed. You get used to it.

He steals the cigarette from between my lips. I allow him a drag before stealing it back.

"Those are bad for you, you know?" he says.

I snort delicately and ignore his good advice, tasting him on the paper.

He takes it back again, "Cigarette kiss," I mutter stupidly to fill the silence. He grins around it and leans forward, taking it out of his mouth. His lips touch mine and he blows the smoke into my mouth. He tastes like mint and tobacco.

"_That_ is a cigarette kiss."

"It's called-"

"Demyx thinks we should have sex."

I manage the incredible feat of choking on nothing, "What?! I thought now you two were together he'd be super territorial, keep you on a leash to stay away from me."

"What makes you think we're together?" He asks coolly, staring across the water, smoking like he was in a Marlboro ad, like he was the fucking Marlboro Man, or maybe just fucking him.

"Several things. One, only time I can see him giving you sex advice. Two, you're not a night shower-er, and three, the walls are thin, I heard you dipshit." I give him an affectionate slap to the back of the head.

He grins guiltily and runs his fingers through his hair in a way that makes mine itch to fix it. "Okay, one and three I can buy, especially three, but two is reaching, man."

I raise an eyebrow and he yields, "Fine. You're right on all counts. Happy?"

"Thrilled," I deadpan.

"We didn't actually- I mean we just-" he rubs at his mouth surreptitiously telling me more than I wanted to know about what they "just."

I shrug, "Whatever, babe, none of my business."

He shrugs, and goes to take another drag, which reminds whose property that little baby rightfully is. I steal it back. "So, Demyx thinks we should have sex why?" I prompt.

"He says it's to get the "guy I never slept with thing" to stop hanging over his head. He thinks I'm going to leave him for you."

"Would you?"

"No."

I stare. "I hope not." I stare some more. "I can see me getting drunk and doing you." A bit more staring. "Oh, stop that, you know I want you." He takes it back from me after another drag.

I smirk, "Just nice to hear sometimes."

He rolls his eyes and sticks his hand down my pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes.

"So, Demyx tells you his brilliant plan and you say..."

"I said no."

"Care to tell me why?"

"You know why."

I shrug, so what if I do? "You should go back up. Wouldn't want him to wake up to find you gone."

"Why? 'Cause I might be screwing you?"

"No, 'cause you might have changed your mind, you might have just been using him. The boy's damned insecure."

He frowns and slouches forward, elbows on his knees, cigarette dangerously close to the water. "You may have a point," he stands.

I raise a hand and he pulls me obediently to my feet, "I'll go in now then."

"Wait, Zex, one more thing." It's just so very tempting. "Hold your breath." I push him back into the pool. There was no malice in the action, I'm not angry, I just saw an opportunity and grabbed it. He breaks the surface with a loud splash and many a curse in my direction.

I laugh, can't help it.

He finds his feet and sputters, flipping his hair back so both eyes are actually visible for once.

I laugh some more at the look on his face and lean over to offer him a hand; all in all, a stupid thing to do. He pulls me, saw an opportunity and grabbed it, no hard feelings. Seriously though, never give someone you just pushed into a pool an opportunity to pull you in.

"Great, now we're both wet," I grumble, shoving my over-long bangs out of my eyes.

Zexion grins, "You're fault."

I _hate_ wearing wet clothes, I hate the way they cling and stick. I start to tug my shirt off.

"No, no. Allow me. Please." And before I know what he's talking about Zexion is standing inches in front of me sliding his hands under my shirt as easily as if they belong there. At his nudge I raise my arms and allow him to pull of my soaking shirt. It lands with a wet slap on the concrete pool-edge.

I smirk as the tingles on my skin move from my chest to the rest of my body. "Very well then, allow me to return the favor."

I tug him by the belt loops to shallowest part of the shallow end and then my fingers drag over to the button on his jeans. You could say I'm an expert at undressing other people; it's been ages since I fumbled a button, so you can understand my slight bewilderment when my fingers tremble ever so slightly as I tug down the zipper.

It's all smooth sailing after that though; I drop to my knees as I tug the heavy denim down. It's a shallow pool, the water's not quite up to my chin.

"Mar," his voice sounds thick, his fingers hook in my hair, "you're going out of order."

Not the reaction I was hoping for, but I can deal. I press a kiss to the bare skin above his boxers and give my fingers free rein to fondle his hips, "So, punish me."

He snorts, "And Dem says _my_ pick-up lines suck."

Again, really not the response I wanted. My grip on his hips switches and I shove him back, hard enough to ruin the moment and get his feet up so I can fling his pants back to join my shirt. Luckily his fingers release before he falls so I don't wind up with a face full of knee.

I pull him to his feet and he laughs as he shakes the water out of his hair, effectively spraying me.

"That was rather unnecessary," he gripes.

"Are you going to stand there all day or get busy removing my pan-nf." So _that's _what this feels like, being silence by someone's mouth, kind of nice actually.

I pull him closer and open my mouth to his questing tongue. A boy could get in real trouble, kissing like he does, every bit of him pressing against me as he grabs me about my shoulders and pulls me just that much closer as my fingers tease the edge of his boxers.

"Shit," he pulls back with a gasp, "I should go back inside."

"Yeah," I say breathlessly. "You really should."

He clambers over the edge of the pool and picks up his sopping wet jeans. "Later," he calls over one shoulder.

Later, right. "Fuck," I flop back into the water.

* * *

_"If that turned around I'd grieve the special dirty things that we used to talk about, I mean that loving you is strange and adored by me throughout."

* * *

_**Naminé BGM: Dirty Little Secret-All American Rejects**

Well, that was only the most awkward ten minutes of my life. Note to self: next time you want to angst quietly, do not do it in the bushes by the pool.

It occurs to me that were I straight, or even bi, i probably would have enjoyed watching two fantastically hot guys making out with each other.

With Zexion gone safely inside and Marluxia looking pretty busy staring at the sky while floating on his back I think it might be safe to go inside. I fidget experimentally, a branch snaps. Marluxia hasn't moved. Okay, let's try this! I shift forward onto the balls of my feet and-

"You may as well come on out," Marluxia calls. So much for him not noticing.

I slink out of the bushes and brush the dirt off my bum. He stands up and gives me a casually scathing once-over that occasionally passes for a greeting, "I thought someone was listening."

"No you didn't!"

"Fine, you win." He heaves himself over the pool edge and kicks his feet lazily, watching the water's movement.

Damn, straight. I sit beside him and dangle my feet. "I know your secret," I singsong.

"Like hell you do. And what secret is that anyway?"

I lean over on him to chirrup in his ear, "The one where you're madly in love with Zexion."

He snorts with laughter, "Right of course. I forgot. Except you forgot two things, I don't fall in love, and definitely not with a guy."

I shrug, "You did before. What were their names, Chris and B**(1)**-"

"Shut up, you win. But that doesn't mean I'm in love with Zexion."

"But you are."

"But I'm not."

I shrug and drop it, he'll never admit to it anyway. "Is it true that Zexion and Demyx are together now?"

He shrugs, shifting me off him, "I'm not sure about 'together'-together, but they're certainly 'fooling around'-together."

"Are you _positive_? Because I've thought this before, and I was wrong."

"The walls are very thin, and Demyx is evidently _very_ loud. Trust me on this one."

I grin happily, "Alright. You know, I always sorta figured Dem for a screamer."

He snorts again, "You know what I like about you Nam? You think you're all innocent like, but really, you're just as bad as the rest of us."

I sigh and lean back, "You know, coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

He smirks.

"I bet you're feeling pretty bitter though, all those weeks spent chasing Zexion and he _still_ ends up with Demyx."

The smirk grows, "Unless of course my master plan all along was just to make Demyx jealous enough to finally do something because I knew Zexion would never do anything about his feelings."

Oh, well that's a new way of looking at it.

"Which isn't to say I wouldn't have happily thrown him down and- you know- at any given point."

I chuckle, "Oh Marluxia, you do have a way with words... So does that mean that if it doesn't work out for them-"

"I will happily swoop in and steal Zexion before Demyx can even say 'second chance?' Oh hell, yeah."

I laugh, "I like how you switched from the conditional to the future. Subtle. Very subtle."

He shrugs, "Considering how long it took them to get together when we've _all_ been waiting for this for years, I don't have much faith in their ability to maintain a relationship."

I wince, "A harsh, but true judgment."

He shrugs yet again, "We'll see."

* * *

**(1)** I was considering using Disney characters, like Cinderella and Gaston, but it seemed sort of wrong.

* * *

_"If that turned around I'd grieve the special dirty things that we used to talk about, I mean that loving you is strange and adored by me throughout."

* * *

_**AN**: Whee! A chapter!! So how many of you actually thought Zexion and Marluxia were doing it in the beginning? -Grin- sorry, had to do it.

**Unbeta'd**. Tell me if there are any hideous errors.

The **Divider** is **Stitches** by **Orgy**, a lovely, **lovely** song. Really, if you **like that sort of thing** you you should **download** or however you acquire **all of Candyass**, it's a great CD. Fear my music-pimping and eternally shrinking chatpers!

Please, sirs and ma'ams, review! For my family is sick and hungry and we haven't eaten for three days. (Yeah, I know, don't ask.)


	26. Love Your Body

Yes, I know this chapter is **abominably both short and late**, but like I told a lot of you, **massive writer's block**. It's a bitch. On a note related to updates, the **story is ending**. I thought I should warn you guys, in case it wasn't apparent.

This chapter is **unbeta'd** 'cause Little Miss "I have a life" was **off saving the world _again_**. I think I've said this before but seriously, if any of you are quick repliers and/or have "Vermillion Lies wants feedback NOW" senses, please tell me so I can email _you_ random things and not her. Essentially, **_I WANT A NEW BETA_** (no offense, darling, you know I love you, and you're still my "creative advisor" or whatever it was). So yes, if you're interested, tell me. You get previews, I get the beloved feedback, it works out for everyone right? Except the story's mostly done, so... oh shit, like I know.

Also, I did some **editing of the earlier chapters** (3 & 4) so **Zexion** seems **less emo**, which I think is an improvement, because he's **not** emo. Yay.

Please enjoy the chapter.

* * *

_"I love your body, not so much I like your mind, in fact you're boring, pretend not being of my kind... you were young, you're free, why don't you sleep with me?"

* * *

_

**Marluxia BGM: Everything-The Veronicas**

The wedding itself was pretty standard, or as standard as a wedding between two guys performed by a sixteen-year-old girl could be.

According to Demyx, don't know why I was talking to him, the girl, Kairi, performed the ceremony because the "bride" and groom couldn't stop fighting over who got her to be best man. It wasn't legally binding, obviously, but more of a confirmation of what everybody seemed to already know.

It was pretty cute I guess, Sora and Riku both looked great, if you're into that kind of thing; weddings, true love, _forever_. Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

The highlight, for me at least, was definitely the ritual bouquet throwing. I'm told, by Demyx again, he's a chatty little thing, that there was terrific row over the bouquet. Apparently, Sora didn't want one because it was girly. But Riku, the groom, and Kairi insisted, saying it was _tradition_. Sora then pointed out that a white dress was traditional as well but both bride and groom planned on wearing black suits.

Demyx and Sora are now lifelong friends, or so I gather.

But anyway, the bouquet throwing. Zexion caught it.

Demyx and I, located on either side of the frozen blunet, both hesitated a split second before grabbing hold of the man in the middle.

Sora, having had turned around and located us on one of the back couches that had been dragged into the formal living room for the occasion, laughs and says, "C'mon guys, no sharing."

Zexion grinned childishly and says, "Sharing is good, I don't mind."

Demyx yanks his hand back, "I do."

I smile and tug Zexion closer to me, "Well, it depends on who with." I shot Demyx a disgusted glance. He glared.

"Er, right then," Sora cleared his throat awkwardly.

* * *

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," I confide casually.

The main wedding party has moved out by the pool but Zexion and I linger together on a couch in the living room.

"Mar," he warns me.

"Mostly naked," I admit with a sly grin, like I haven't heard him.

"Mar."

"Mostly in my bed but sometimes-"

"Mar!"

I grin at you, "What is it, babe? Can't a man share his fantasies with the star of most of his numerous wet dreams? You know, I had a dream once where I was you getting screwed by me."

You look repulsed, pissed, and the tiniest bit curious, "What was it like?"

"Mind-blowing, one of the best sex dreams I've ever had."

"Are you just saying that to get me to sleep with you?"

"Like you need persuasion, I remember that time I had you on your couch, all sexy and writhing underneath me."

"Sure, then you left me." You lean back into the couch, comfortable in the rhythm of our banter, and move closer to me at the same time. You're so warm.

"You didn't want me enough."

"How the hell much do I have to want you? And what about now?"

I don't answer your first question. "Maybe I want you enough not to care."

You roll your eyes, and twitch your hand, brushing it along my thigh."You're such an ass."

"It's why you love me."

"True enough." Your hand slides onto my knee.

I allow myself a victory smirk.

"Seriously though, how much am I supposed to want you? 'Cause I want you a lot."

Did I mention that you're drunk enough to say shit like that and have your "innocent little touches" without having your speech impaired? In other words, only judgment is affected.

You kiss me, hesitant at first, then hard and wanting. In seconds, you're all over me; you're in my lap, hands fisted in my shirt, tongue in my mouth.

"I want you," you repeat as if I didn't hear you the first time.

"That's good," I want to reply but you're kissing me again with a desperation that's as off-putting as it is arousing.

And then Demyx walks in. "God. Fucking. Damn it," he bites out.

You twist, still on my lap, and mutter a brief "shit" before continuing, louder, "Demyx, I love you. You're the bright, shiny center of my universe. The things I do with Marluxia can't do a thing to change that."

"Huh. It'd be easier to listen to you if you're tongue weren't in his mouth," (That was hyperbole by the way.) Demyx is not impressed.

"Maybe he likes it better that way," I drawl, pissed for no real reason other than my hatred of being interrupted during this sort of activity, especially with my sexy Zexy.

Zexion sighs and gets off my lap, "You know what, I'm gonna just leave you two to fight it out. I'll be upstairs, Dem, feel free to join me when you manage to figure out that I'm serious about you."

Amazing. The boy manages to turn him fooling around with another man into Demyx's fault. Demyx doesn't seem to be appreciating the beauty of the move however. Personally, I just think Zexion's being a bit of a coward, but whatever, I don't expect him to fight. He's not like that.

"Keep trying to chain him and you're going to lose him," I tell Demyx companionably once Zexion's gone.

"I'm not trying to chain him."

"I mean he likes to be dominated a little when fooling around, but there's a big difference between that and always telling him what to do."

"I don't! And what's with you giving out advice?" Demyx protests, flushed and angry.

Zexion isn't a fighter. Demyx isn't a fighter. But I am. I like to fight. I like to antagonize people.

"Here, I'll give you some more. He melts like butter when you bite his bottom lip, but he doesn't much like ear-play. Also, he claws when he's happy, watch out for that."

Demyx looks distinctly uncomfortable. He squirms and shifts his weight, but he's got the spine to at least look angry. "Why the fuck are you telling me this?" he demands. I'm surprised he swore.

"Frankly, I don't have faith in you two to change a light bulb on your own. Run along now or else he'll stay pissed at you."

* * *

_"I love your body, not so much I like your mind, in fact you're boring, pretend not being of my kind... you were young, you're free, why don't you sleep with me?"

* * *

_

**Zexion BGM: Funky Shit!-The Prodigy  
**

I'm standing by the dresser, removing my watch and trying not to think about Demyx or Marluxia, admittedly for very different reasons, when Dem barges in, the door slamming against the wall in his wake. He takes me by the shoulders and moves me over a couple feet and back and then _shoves_.

I tumble back onto the bed. He then proceeds to climb on top of me. "You and I," He enunciates carefully, "are going to have sex. It's going to be hot, sweaty, maybe a little bit rough, and absolutely amazing. And afterwards, if I ever have to endure listening to another man giving me sex advice regarding you, I'm going to rip their balls off."

Who would-_Marluxia_, looks like he managed to turn sweet, little Demyx into a dominatrix. Allow me a brief, Paris Hilton that's hot.

Demyx then gets off me. I start to sit up, and without looking, he points an angry finger at me, "Lie back down or so help me bahamut I will fucking spank you!"

It's the expletive more than the threat but it works just the same. I lie back down and wait as digs through my bag, eventually coming up with a pair of bondage pants I brought along just for shits and giggles. He detaches one of the straps.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am."

"Listen, despite what you seem to be thinking, being mad at Mar is not a good reason to-"

"Don't make me gag you."

"With what? Leon doesn't seem the type to leave ball-gags lying around."

He shrugs, "I dunno, a sock?"

"Ew."

"Precisely." He climbs back on top of me and ties my wrists to the head board, damned if I know why I'm submitting to all this. Oh right, it's hot as hell.

He kisses me then. In a slow, teasing way that makes me growl and my hands fist up by the headboard. He bites my lip and my skeletal system turns to goo. Words cannot describe how much I want him at this instant.

* * *

Afterwards, after I've been untied and he's been properly ravished and we're both exhausted we lie curled up together. It strikes me a vaguely backward that he's the one holding me but it feels nice and I'm wonderfully sleepy and afterglowy so I don't really care. I've got just enough energy to shift back tighter against him, press a kiss to his palm and whisper an, "I love you," even though he's already sound asleep.

* * *

I wake up before Demyx, for once, which is good because about ten minutes after I do Marluxia knocks quietly and sticks his head in. He grins when he sees us. I sit up partway and nod at him. He nods back and closes the door behind his disappearing head.

I dress quickly, more than half expecting Marluxia to open the door "by accident." He doesn't.

"So," he leers at me as soon as I emerge into the hallway, "how was it?"

I hit him lightly on the arm. "Mar," I groan. I begin to wonder why I came out here.

He grins, half-apologetically, "Can you blame me? I _am_ highly perverted after all."

I laugh, "True enough. You hungry?"

"Why do you think I woke you up?"

I roll my eyes and lead the way to the kitchen.

* * *

_"I love your body, not so much I like your mind, in fact you're boring, pretend not being of my kind... you were young, you're free, why don't you sleep with me?"

* * *

_Next chapter **preview**: Zexion and Marluxia **talk in the kitchen**, probably the **last chapter**.**There will be an epilogue**.

**Divider** is from **Shut Up and Sleep With Me** by **Sin With Sebastian**, anyone else think they don't speak English too well? (Then again, neither do I.)

**Once again, if you're interested in "betaing" (read:giving me your opinion on stuff) please tell me.**

Please **review**.

And **Happy Holidays** if the next update takes another month or so.


	27. OMG! FIN!

Whee, **final** **chapter/epilogue fusion**!! That's right guys, this is it. **The last of WSNHY**, hopefully you all will read and review everything else I write, right??

I'm surprisingly sad to see this little baby end, but what can you do?

**Beta'd!!** W00t!! When was the last time I said _that_? 

**A massive thank you** to my **beta(s) blondevil and LawlietxRinoa** and to **everyone who's ever reviewed, faved or alerted** this story. Especially those who've **been with me since the beginning and reveiwed regularly**. **Thank you**. It's been good.

* * *

_"I love myself, I want you to love me. When I'm feeling down I want you above me."

* * *

_**Zexion BGM: Closer-Lacuna Coil/Simple and Clean (DDR Mix)-Utada Hikaru**

Making Marluxia breakfast is sort of a habit of mine. It started when I realized that he lived pretty close to me and was a pissy bitch in the morning. Which lead to the conclusion that mornings spent lolling around in bed _could_ be spent pissing off Marluxia; a much more valuable waste of time. Except, somehow, pissing him off turned into cooking for him. I think that happened when I realized he only ate out at diners and fast food joints. Even I, unhealthy as I may be, know that's a bad life decision.

"So," I say, as we walk down the hall towards the kitchen, "about you and me. And Demyx."

"About you, me, and Demyx," he agrees as he stops and turns to face me.

I stop walking as well, "Listen, Mar, I-"

"Love you from the depths of my soul?"

"Er, no, that's not quite-"

"Shh." He holds a finger up to my lips. "I won't touch you in an inappropriate manner again unless you're single or we're both very, very drunk."

"But, I-"

"The drunk thing is just in case shit happens, you know?"

"Mar, I-"

"Listen, I don't want to have to listen to you dumping me when we were never even dating, m'kay?"

"Al-alright." Because really, how can I argue with that?

We start walking again.

"Hold on a sec," he holds an arm out against my chest and dashes back the way we came. He runs in, then out, of his room with a white t-shirt, this he sticks over his hand and then opens the door to Dem's and my room.

He knocks loudly on the wall with his white shirted hand until I can hear Demyx's sleeping voice, "What the heck?"

"I surrender!" wails Marluxia, with only his hand in the room.

"What?"

"Zexion. He's yours!"

"O-okay, can I go back to bed now?"

Marluxia pulls his hand out of the room and shuts the door, smirking to himself.

I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow, "Having fun?"

"Oodles." He chucks the shirt through the open doorway to his room.

"So, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Waffles."

We get to the kitchen to find Leon and Cloud eating toast and conversing quietly. They go silent as we enter the kitchen. After a bland round of "Mornings" silence returns.

"Do you have a waffle iron?" Though I direct the question to Leon, it's Cloud who gets up and pulls it out of a low-lying cabinet for me.

He also gets out a bowl and the necessary ingredients; I won't bore you with the details. Cloud seems to be the helpful type.

"Your bitch is well-trained," he comments quietly to Marluxia.

Marluxia smiles genially, "Isn't he?"

Which is funny because we _just_ had conversation about how I'm _not_ his bitch. He just likes to mess with people's heads.

"This one can't feed itself," I turn my head in time to see Cloud jerk his thumb at the quietly eating Leon.

I stop mixing and turn my back to the counter, "Actually, he's my bitch. He lied earlier, I like to let him have his little delusions, but really, he's whipped."

"I am not!" Marluxia interjects angrily but Cloud just smiles a small, indulgent little smile.

"Yes, you are, dear."

Marluxia looks at me, "Do you honestly believe that, were you and I to engage in vigorous bouts of wild, animalistic sex, you would be on top?"

My face colors and I really wish Cloud and Leon weren't staring at me with anticipation right now. And I really want to lie but my mind is too busy quashing images that make Demyx tying me to the headboard seem totally vanilla. "No."

"There you have it then," Marluxia concludes, satisfied. I want to punch him. I want to f- I need to see Demyx.

Ignoring Marluxia's protests, I leave the waffle preparations to Cloud and hurry up the stairs to the room I share with Demyx.

He's in just a towel when I get there. He looks awkward and flushes when he sees me, but I ignore that in favor of rushing forward to wrap my arms around him and holding him tight to me.

"Um, Zex," he asks breathily in my ear, "What's up?"

"Nothing," I tell him, releasing him so I'm not squishing him quite so much.

And then I'm painfully aware of how very _not_ dressed he is and all that bare skin underneath my hands. Forgive me if my hands start to wander.

His muscles stiffen, "Zexy, if you're going to continue with that, could you at least shut the door?"

Ever indulgent to my love's whims, I shut the door. When I turn back he's sitting nervously on the bed, twiddling his thumbs. I don't believe it.

Last night, he tied me up and molested me quite enjoyably, only untying me so I could screw him sixty ways to Sunday, which I did. The nights before that we fooled around as only two horny teenagers can. This morning, he can't even seem to look at me. I guess there's something to that "light of the night" business.

"Dem, are you-do you... regret last night?"

"No! Not at all, it's just, last night I was angry. This morning I'm... terrified."

Ah. Of course. Well, it's a bit of gamble but, "Marluxia came on to me today," I say casually, like I'm just commenting on the weather.

Demyx's eyes narrow, "Before or after he 'surrendered?'"

"After. He's a vicious, lying harlot." Sorry Marluxia. I'll make this up to you. "He says I'll always belong to him and that you could never satisfy me."

"Hmph! Sure seemed to last night!"

It's a struggle not to smile or laugh. I approach him slowly, but he's off the bed and pacing, muttering things about castration.

He stops pacing. "We should have sex again."

"I agree completely." Yes! Victory is mine. I scoop him up and carry him the foot or so to the bed; it's the thought that counts, right?

He squeaks and laughs, in that stupid way of people who are being silly together in a romantic fashion. You know what I mean. I'm about to remove that pesky towel but he beats me to the hem of my shirt instead, rips that off and then pulls me down on top of him. Really, who am I to argue with that?

Later he turns to me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You lied about Marluxia coming on to you, didn't you?"

"I, well, er- Yes, yes I did."

"You lied to me so I would have sex with you." It's not a question. And when you phrase it like _that _it sounds so....

"Well... Yes, but I wouldn't really phrase it like that."

He sits up. _Shit_, "How would _you _phrase it then?"

I think I've managed to well and truly piss him off, but I can't really blame him.

"I would say," I begin carefully, "that I was willing to go to extreme measures to make you not be nervous and uncomfortable." There. That sounds much better.

"Don't do that again, ever, or I'll-I'll, I dunno, do something drastic."

"Will do." Well, that was far less painful than I expected.

"I _am_ mad at you." He warned.

"I cannot say I'm surprised by that turn of events."

"And I'll be properly mad at you after I've slept, and showered, again, damn you."

"Alright." It takes a force of effort not to add, 'I'm looking forward to it.'  
"I love you, you know that, right?"

He sighs, "Yes, Zexion, I know you love me, as I tell you every time you tell me. Do you know that I love you? No, no you don't, but I do."

"Er, thanks, I did sort of know, though."

"Liar, you just wish you did."

"Whatever you say, dear."

"Hey, Zex?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we dating?"

I take a few seconds to mull it over, "I should think so, unless you, too, are in the habit of having random sex with people."

"I'm not in the habit of having sex at all," he replies easily, if slightly snappily. "Speaking of which, we need to talk about your sense of self-worth."

"Hmm."

"Vodka and cigarettes? Really, Zexion? Really?"

"We were all poor and I didn't care. Besides those fruity Smirnoff drinks are _really_ tasty."

He props himself up on his elbows and turns to look at me, "You are _so_ gay. You should at least charge, like, Bacardi or Disaronno or... Jose Cuervo, or something."

"Your just reciting brand names from advertisements, aren't you?"

"Maybe, but the point remains the same. You should have charged more."

"It wasn't a _charging _thing. It was just that we got drunk then had sex or had sex then smoked or, occasionally, got drunk, had sex, _then_ smoked. You know?"

"Not really. But whatever. We're dating. I love you. You love me. We're happy, right?"

"That sums it up rather well, yes."

"Good. And Marluxia is _not_ a 'vicous, lying harlot' who lied about surrendering?"

"Correct."

"So we'll be happy and together for forever and ever, then?"

I tighten my arm around him, "Damn straight."

"Good."

* * *

_"I love myself, I want you to love me. When I'm feeling down I want you above me."

* * *

_**Axel BGM: Love You Madly-Cake**

"So I ran into your mom in the kitchen," Roxas starts, carrying in chips and salsa 'cause he's awesome like that.

"Mmm…"

"She's an interesting lady."

Well, _that_ gets my attention. I sit up, abandoning my couch-flopping. "Oh, fuck, what'd she say?"

"Well, she _seems_ to be of the opinion that we, as in you and I, are having sex."

"Really?"

"I naturally denied it-"

"She already knows I'm gay."

"-but she insisted, saying something along the lines of '_no son of mine could possibly be spending so much time with an attractive young male and _not _be having sexual intercourse with them._'"

I thunk my head into my hands.

"She _then_ said, _'In case subtlety is lost on you like it is on Alex-'_Alex, really? '-_ that means my son is a horny bitch and I know it._'"

I whimper softly into my hands. "And you defended me?" I ask hopefully, already knowing the answer is no.

"I said I was quite aware of that, especially the '_bitch_' part."

"You didn't."

"I did."

I sigh, stretch my shoulders back and look up at him; he still hasn't sat down yet. "Please tell me that's it."

"She advised us to be safe. I assured her we were."

"Well, that could've been worse. I think she likes you."

"Really?" he smiles hopefully, "That's good. So, what movie are we watching?"

Well, this is all well and good and all, but there's one quick thing I need to make sure is clear, "So... you know that I kinda love you, right?" I drawl casually as I fiddle with the remotes.

Roxas smirks, shrugs, and sits down on top of me, "I sort of figured it out, yeah. I mean, masochism, c'mon."

"I didn't say masochism, I said 'burning and loving the tyranny' and that thing from that Shakespeare sonnet. They're entirely different."

Roxas laughs, "Whatever, they translate to the same thing in my head, which is, _masochism_."

I sigh theatrically, "I'll take that as, 'Axel, you studmuffin, I love you, too. And were I not sitting I would be rendered totally weak at the knees by your debonair ways and pretty turn of phrase.' Ooh, lookit, I rhymed!"

Roxas' eyes roll heavenward, "Whatever."

I poke him, "Yeah, you love me."

* * *

_"I love myself, I want you to love me. When I'm feeling down I want you above me."

* * *

_**Cloud BGM: I Will Buy You A Knew Life-Everclear  
**

"Hey Leon, can I ask you a question?" I ask, breaking the calm of Everclear, his books, and my DS.

He thinks it over, staring at his page for a second, eyes flicking until he, presumably, reaches the end of a paragraph. His eyes meet mine, _Go for it_.

"What happened to you that year we were apart?"

Is it my imagination, or is he blushing? "Nothing special," he hedges.

"Then how'd you get that scar?" I press, gesturing needlessly between my own eyebrows.

"I fell," he replies stiffly.

"Fell where?"

"Down some stairs."

"Stairs?"

"Stairs."

"Then why'd you change your name, I like Squall Loire better than _Leon_ _Leonhart_."

"That was my father's idea." He turns the page.

"C'mon, Leon, just tell me."

He sighs and put the book down, pages spread, over his crossed thighs. I settle myself on his calves with the air of a child about to enjoy a good story.

He takes a deep breath to prepare himself. "I was a stripper. End of story." He picks the book back up.

My face splits into a cherry red smirk, "Whoa, whoa! You can't just- Details! I demand details!"

He sighs again and puts the book back down, "You're not going to shut up unless I tell you, are you?"

I grin wider and nod, "Yup."

He sighs for the third time, "My mom died so we moved away. My father couldn't take the memories, I guess. I was pissed. I didn't want to leave y-home. I didn't want to leave home.

"So, I ran away to this shitty city called NeverWas, or something like that, 'cept I didn't bring much money so I had to get a job. The only place I could get a job was this creepy pedo-bar run by two old guys, Cid and Sephiroth. One day, I tripped up the stairs to my shitty hotel room. End of story, for real this time."

I gape at him. "Seriously? That's your big, capitalized, Mysterious Past?"

"Yeah."

I roll over so my neck is on his calves, "So then your dad found you, freaked, and changed your name?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you use a stage name?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"What name?" I interrupt happily, eager to know absolutely everything.

"I really don't think-"

"What name?"

He mutters something low and incomprehensible.

"Try that again."

"Lestat de Valois."

I bark with laughter, "Oh yes, pretty little aristocrat runs away to become an actor. Brilliant!"

He flushes, "Shut up."

"So, wait, if you were a stripper-"

"No."

"You didn't even let me-"

"No."

"Just once-"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"You suck." _But I love you anyway._

He smiles softly, emitting a sense of double-meaning in his words, "I know."

* * *

_"I love myself, I want you to love me. When I'm feeling down I want you above me."

* * *

_

**Divider** is from **I Touch Myself**, specifically the cover by **Jack Off Jill**. (Is it bad it took me a few times to get the band name??)

**Please review**, it's the** last** chapter, and the Holiday season. Yes, I'm begging for **reviews as presents** (that or some **Marxion dubcon hate-sex**).


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